OL 


©Itoe  C&ora* 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA,    i2mo,  $1.25. 
KRISTY'S  RAINY  DAY  PICNIC.    Illustrated  in  color. 

I2IDO,  $1.25. 

KRISTY'S  SURPRISE  PARTY.  Illustrated  in  color. 
i2tno,  $1.25. 

KRISTY'S  QUEER  CHRISTMAS.  With  colored  fron- 
tispiece. I2D1O,  $1.25. 

WITH  THE  BIRDS  IN  MAINE.  i6mo,  fi.io  net. 
Postpaid,  $1.20. 

TRUE  BIRD  STORIES  FROM  MY  NOTE-BOOKS. 
With  a  colored  frontispiece  and  illustrations  by  Louis 
Agassiz  Fuertes.  Square  12010,  li.oo,  net.  Postpaid, 
$1.08  ;  also  School  Edition,  60  cents,  net. 

THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  BIRDS.  With  many  Illustra- 
tions, including  8  full-page  colored  Plates.  Square 
i2tno,  Ji.oo;  also  School  Edition,  60  cents,  net. 

THE  SECOND   BOOK   OF    BIRDS:  Bird  Families. 
Illustrated  with  24  full-page  pictures,  eight  of  _which 
are   in  color,  after  drawings  by  Louis  Agassiz  Fu- 
ertes.    Square  12010,  $1.00,  net.     Postpaid,  $1.10. 

UPON  THE  TREE-TOPS.  With  10  Illustrations  by 
J.  CARTER  BEARD.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

A  BIRD-LOVER  IN  THE  WEST.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

LITTLE  BROTHERS  OF  THE  AIR.     i6mo,  $1.85. 

BIRD-WAYS.  i6mo,  $1.25;  also  in  Riverside  School 
Library,  i6mo,  half  leather,  60  cents,  net. 

IN  NESTING  TIME.     i6mo,  f  1.25. 

FOUR-HANDED  FOLK.  Illustrated.  i6mo,  fi.as; 
also  in  Riverside  Library  for  Young  People,  i6mo, 
75  cents. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO 
BARBARA 


BY 


OLIVE  THORNE  MILLER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

;£be  Ciitcrsibc  press,  Cambridge 
1907 


COPYRIGHT  1907  BY  H.  M.  MILLER 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  April  tqoj 


CONTENTS 

I.  BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE 
II.  BARBARA'S  HOME 

III.  UNCLE  KARL 

IV.  A  FUNNY  LUNCH 

V.  ON  A  CANAL  BOAT     .... 

VI.  QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY 

VII.  STRENUOUS  HOUSEKEEPING 

VIII.  JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  GLAUS 

IX.  STICKY  TIMES  IN  THE  STUDIO    . 

X.  UNCLE  KARL  AND  BARBARA  RUN  AWAY 

XI.  DROLL  MRS.  BLAKE     .... 

XII.  A  BEAR  IN  CAMP    .        .        .        . 

XIII.  IN  A  BLIZZARD 

XIV.  THE  FRIENDLY  LOG  CABIN     . 
XV.  ONLY  POTATOES  TO  EAT    . 

XVI.  BARBARA'S  BIRTHDAY     .... 
XVII.  THE  CHILDREN'S  SYMPHONY 
XVIII.  CONFIDENCES    .     ,.  •        .        .        . 
XIX.  BARBARA  HIRES  OUT 
XX.   THE  SECRET  HIDING-PLACE    .        .        . 
XXI.  A  LETTER  FROM  UNCLE  KARL  .        . 
XXII.   "  IMPROVING  HER  MIND  "        .        .""'.. 

XXIII.  BOARDING  SCHOOL  * 

XXIV.  THE  SECRET  Our 


vi  CONTENTS 

XXV.  THE  END  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS        .        .        .  223 
XXVI.  ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAT    .        .  229 

XXVII.  THE  MAGIC  Box 241 

XXVIII.  CAMPING  OUT  .        .        .        .  248 

XXIX.  A  NIGHT  SCARE 263 

XXX.  FORDING  THE  RIVER       ....      271 

XXXI.   THE  "  STAR  " 280 

XXXII.  HAPPY  AT  LAST      .        .        .  288 

XXXIII.  THE  END  OF  TROUBLES      .        .  .  294 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO 
BARBARA 


WHAT  HAPPENED  TO 
BARBARA 

CHAPTER  I 

BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE 

"  Is  N'T  that  lovely  !  " 

"  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"Who  made  it?" 

This  confusion  of  tongues  greeted  Barbara 
as  she  opened  the  schoolroom  door  one  morn- 
ing. She  drew  near  the  group  to  see  the  won- 
der that  excited  them,  when  another  voice 
arose — that  of  Jenny  Mills  —  saying  exult- 
antly :  — 

"  It  came  from  New  York,  and  there  is  n't 
one  in  town  like  it,  and  I  don't  believe  there 's 
any  one  that  can  make  one  !  " 

Barbara  came  hastily  near  and  was  greeted 
with  a  shout. 

"  Come,  Barbara  !  see  this  lovely  basket ! 


4          WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Do  you  know  how  it 's  made  ?  "  for  Barbara 
was  handy  at  making  fancy  things. 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Jenny  with  scorn.  "  I  'd 
like  to  see  her  make  one  !  " 

Barbara  had  never  seen  one  before,  but  it 
looked  easy  enough.  She  could  n't  bear  to  fall 
below  the  expectations  of  her  schoolmates, 
and  she  resented  Jenny's  tone,  and  in  fact 
some  sudden  impulse  —  perhaps  vanity — made 
her  say  instantly  :  — 

"  Pooh !  anybody  can  make  one  of  those  ! 
Is  that  the  great  thing  you  were  all  talking 
about?" 

"  Can  you  do  it  ?  Oh,  make  me  one  !  "  was 
the  cry  that  now  burst  upon  her. 

"  She  can't  do  it ;  she  's  only  bragging," 
said  Jenny's  exasperating  voice. 

"  I  can  do  it,"  she  asserted  proudly. 

"  Oh,  please,"  pleaded  the  voice  of  her 
warmest  friend,  a  girl  younger  than  herself 
who  clung  to  her  like  a  worshiper,  "please 
make  one  for  me  !  " 

"  She  can't  do  it ;  she  dare  n't  try,"  said 
Jenny  again. 


BARBARA'S   RASH  PROMISE  5 

"  I  can  do  it,  Dora,"  said  Barbara  quietly, 
"  and  I  will." 

"  Let's  see  it,  won't  you?  "  sneered  Jenny. 

"  Yes,  Dora,  you  '11  show  it  to  them  when 
it 's  done,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ! "  said  Dora  loyally,  "  and 
it  '11  be  prettier  than  that  one,  I  know  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  bell  rang  and  the  girls 
separated  to  their  seats. 

Barbara  was  very  happy  in  this  school,  which 
was  what  was  called  a  Select  School,  of  not 
more  than  forty  or  fifty  girls.  It  was  held  in 
one  large  room  with  a  single  row  of  desks  all 
around  next  the  wall. 

Nearly  everything  about  it  was  pleasant  to 
Barbara.  She  liked  the  teacher,  and  she  liked 
her  studies,  but  the  dearest  of  all  to  her  was 
a  little  secret  society  of  half  a  dozen  of  her 
most  intimate  friends  who  had  united  them- 
selves together  for  the  purpose  of  indulging 
their  love  for  writing.  Who  started  it  has 
long  been  forgotten,  but  as  two  of  the  party 
became  well-known  writers  at  a  later  day,  it 
is  to  be  supposed  that  one  of  them  formed  it. 


6    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

In  this  little  society  each  girl  assumed  a 
character  either  from  history  or  from  a  favor- 
ite romance,  or  a  purely  imaginary  one.  This 
fictitious  personage  chose  her  residence  in 
some  foreign  country  and  pretended  to  write 
all  her  letters  from  there,  trying  in  every  way 
to  act  the  character  she  had  chosen. 

One  of  the  girls,  for  instance,  took  the 
name  of  a  favorite  young  girl  in  Scott's  nov- 
els, and  dated  her  letters  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland ;  another  became  a  princess  of  France 
and  wrote  the  most  wonderful  stories  of  life 
in  a  royal  palace ;  a  third  buried  herself  in  the 
woods  and  wrote  hermit  letters  from  there. 

All  letters  were  passed  to  each  of  the  circle 
to  read. 

In  this  way  Barbara  indulged  her  passion 
for  letter-writing,  and  after  she  had  used  up 
her  too  limited  paper  she  would  fill  her  slate, 
and  when  a  good  chance  offered,  pass  it  around 
to  be  read,  then  wash  it  off  and  fill  it  again. 
Behind  the  big  geographies  of  those  days 
many  an  hour  was  spent  in  this  dear  pleasure. 

On  the  day  my  story  begins,  after  the  ex- 


BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE  7 

citement  about  the  basket  and  Jenny's  taunts 
were  over,  Barbara's  heart  was  rather  heavy, 
for  she  had  never  seen  a  basket  like  that,  and 
she  had  promised  to  make  one.  She  would  not 
fail  for  anything,  and  thus  not  only  disappoint 
Dora's  trusting  heart  but  bring  down  the 
sneers  of  Jenny  and  the  rest.  The  thing  had 
been  made  by  hands,  and  she  was  resolved  to 
make  one  like  it,  if  it  took  a  year.  It  must  be 
prettier,  too,  to  justify  Dora's  faith. 

The  basket  was  to  hang  on  the  wall  to  hold 
letters  or  cards.  It  was  made  of  two  colors  of 
paper  woven  together  as  the  kindergarten 
children  nowadays  weave  mats.  Then  it  was 
bound  together,  had  tassels  at  the  corners  and 
a  curiously  braided  band  to  hang  it  by. 

Such  a  thing  would  be  very  commonplace 
now,  but  in  those  days  it  was  new  and  pretty. 
It  looked  easy,  but  let  me  tell  you  what  a 
time  Barbara  had  learning  to  make  one. 

Jenny's  basket  was  of  blue  and  white  paper, 
but  Barbara  resolved  that  Dora's  should  be  of 
gilt  and  silver  paper,  that  being  the  most  gor- 
geous thing  she  could  think  of. 


8         WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

When  she  got  home  from  school  Barbara 
went  to  the  drawer  where  she  kept  her  trea- 
sures and  opened  a  little  hox  containing  her 
small  savings.  Girls  did  not  have  much  money 
in  those  days,  and  such  a  thing  as  an  allow- 
ance to  spend  as  she  pleased  Barbara  had 
never  heard  of.  She  looked  at  the  little  pile 
of  pennies  and  half-dimes  with  a  sigh.  She 
had  set  her  heart  on  a  certain  purchase  for 
examination  day  at  the  close  of  the  school, 
and  she  had  denied  herself  candy  and  gum- 
mastic  and  "  acid,"  of  which  girls  used  to  buy 
five  cents'  worth  at  the  drug-stores  and  dis- 
solve on  the  tongue — a  strange  fancy  which 
I  am  surprised  their  parents  allowed.  Still  she 
had  managed  to  save  little  more  than  a  dollar. 

She  felt  very  unhappy,  but  there  was  no 
other  way,  the  money  must  go.  She  took  out 
sixty  cents  and  went  to  the  bookstore,  where 
she  bought  a  sheet  of  gilt  and  another  of  silver 
paper,  for  in  those  days  they  cost  thirty  cents 
apiece.  Of  course  it  was  much  more  than  was 
needed  for  the  basket  —  she  said  to  herself  — 
but  she  could  make  other  things  with  it. 


BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE  9 

When  Barbara  reached  home  she  went  to 
her  own  room  and  locked  the  door,  having 
first  slipped  a  pair  of  her  mother's  scissors  into 
her  pocket. 

She  opened  the  paper  and  cut  off  a  square 
she  thought  big  enough.  Of  course  she  should 
have  practiced  on  common  paper,  or  at  least 
measured  and  cut  it  out  with  extreme  care. 
But  she  did  not  know  anything  about  this 
sort  of  work,  and  she  had  to  learn  on  the  costly 
paper  how  to  do  it. 

The  weaving  was  of  alternate  strips  of  the 
two  papers,  so  she  cut  a  number  of  strips  of 
the  proper  width  and  length,  and  tried  to 
weave  them  together.  First  she  laid  down  side 
by  side  all  the  gold  strips  and  then  tried  to 
weave  in  the  silver. 

Fancy  the  trouble  she  had !  She  would 
get  one  strip  woven  in,  but  the  moment  she 
began  the  next,  the  first  one  would  slip  out. 
All  the  first  afternoon  she  wasted  trying  to  do 
it  in  that  way. 

The  next  morning  at  school  she  was  greeted 
with  shouts  of  "Have  you  brought  the  has- 


10       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

ket?"  "Let's  see  your  wonderful  basket!" 
etc. 

Barbara  did  n't  feel  quite  so  confident  as  the 
day  before,  but  she  was  not  going  to  be  sneered 
out  of  it,  so  she  answered  carelessly :  — 

"  I  didn't  have  time  to  make  it  last  night." 

Jenny  laughed  insultingly. 

"  Oh,  if  you  're  in  a  hurry,  Miss  Mills,"  said 
Barbara  loftily,  "  you  can  wait  till  your  hurry 
is  over ;  it  isn't  for  you !  " 

All  day  that  basket  weighed  on  her  mind, 
and  at  night  she  tried  a  new  way.  When  she 
had  woven  the  first  strip  in,  she  stuck  a  pin 
straight  down  through  every  cross  strip  into 
the  table  it  lay  on.  That  held  it,  and  though 
it  was  extremely  awkward  handling  it,  she 
managed  to  weave  in  all  the  strips  for  one  side, 
holding  them  in  place  by  a  bristling  army  of 
pins. 

Then  she  noticed  with  horror  that  as  she 
had  not  cut  her  strips  exactly,  there  were  gaps 
and  places  where  they  did  not  fit  properly. 
This  would  never  do ;  she  saw  that  she  must 
begin  again.  So  passed  the  second  day. 


BARBARA'S   RASH  PROMISE  11 

The  second  morning  the  laughs  of  the 
enemy  were  louder,  and  the  voices  of  her 
friends  fainter,  but  she  made  some  excuse,  and 
spent  another  day  thinking  about  it. 

The  third  night  she  cut  new  strips  by  help 
of  a  ruler,  and  saw  with  dismay  that  her  two 
sheets  would  not  be  enough  to  complete  the 
dreadful  thing.  The  third  morning  her  friends 
said  nothing,  but  looked  with  wistful  eyes 
at  her  empty  hands,  while  her  enemies  met 
her  with  shouts  as  far  off  as  they  could  see 
her. 

"  Where 's  the  basket?  "  "  Hope  you  brought 
that  basket! "  "  We're  dying  to  see  that  bas- 
ket!" and  other  schoolgirlish  remarks  meant 
to  be  ironical  and  crushing. 

She  answered  back  bravely,  though  her 
heart  was  heavy. 

That  day  she  began  to  fail  in  recitation. 
Her  teacher  spoke  sharply  to  her,  which  nearly 
broke  her  heart,  for  she  was  proud  of  her 
standing  in  school,  and  to  be  reproved  was 
only  a  little  less  mortifying  to  her  than  to  be 
marked  less  than  perfect.  How  could  she 


12      WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

study  with  that  horrid  basket  like  a  night- 
mare before  her ! 

The  fourth  night  she  wove  the  two  sides 
and  left  them  pinned  to  her  table,  for  she  did 
not  dare  unpin  them  till  she  had  contrived 
some  way  to  hold  the  strips  in  place,  and  only 
now  discovered  that  she  should  have  woven 
them  wrong  side  out  so  that  she  could  have 
pasted  them  firmly  on  the  back. 

The  fourth  morning  her  friends  looked  the 
other  way,  except  dear  trusting  Dora,  who 
clung  to  her  as  usual,  and  the  enemy  taunted 
her  unmercifully. 

"I  can  do  it  and  I  will!"  said  Jenny, 
mocking  her  tone  and  manner.  "  Pooh !  any- 
body can  do  that ! "  repeated  Jenny's  great 
friend,  and  so  they  went  on.  I  need  n't  tell 
you  girls  the  various  ways  in  which  one  can 
manage  to  distress  and  annoy  another. 

This  day  she  failed  worse  than  ever  in  les- 
sons and  went  home  in  disgrace. 

The  fifth  evening  she  managed  to  unpin 
and  gum  in  place  the  two  woven  pieces  so  that 
they  looked  tolerably  well,  and  to  bind  the 


BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE  13 

edges  in  a  somewhat  clumsy  way,  with  a  broad 
strip  of  the  gilt  paper. 

The  fifth  morning  was  a  repetition  of  the 
fourth  as  to  treatment,  only  her  friends  now 
said  openly  they  did  not  believe  she  could  do 
it.  She  was  much  shaken  by  her  worry  and 
the  girls'  treatment.  She  seemed  unable  to 
understand  the  simplest  question  in  her  books; 
she  simply  could  not  fix  her  mind  on  them. 
Her  teacher  was  grieved  and  kept  her  after 
school  to  talk  to  her  seriously. 

She  could  only  cry  and  feel  utterly  broken 
down,  but  she  would  not  tell  what  was  the 
matter,  nor  would  she  give  up  trying  to  make 
that  basket.  She  must  succeed  now  or  be  set 
down  as  a  liar,  and  I  think  she  would  have 
died  before  she  would  fail. 

The  sixth  evening  she  struggled  with  fast- 
ening the  two  sides  together,  which  she  ac- 
complished in  a  tolerably  neat  way,  and  began 
attempts  on  the  braided  strip  to  hang  it  up  by. 

By  this  time  the  family  had  become  inter- 
ested in  her  strange,  secret  ways ;  she  kept 
her  door  locked ;  she  spent  every  moment  out 


14       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

of  school  in  her  room ;  she  would  not  let  any 
one  in  ;  she  always  came  home  with  red  eyes ; 
she  could  not  eat  or  sleep.  Her  brother  teased 
unmercifully  about  her  wonderful  secret ;  he 
declared  she  was  writing  a  book ;  he  examined 
her  fingers  for  ink  spots ;  he  called  her  "  blue- 
stocking;" he  pretended  to  read  notices  out  of 
the  newspapers  about  the  celebrated  authoress. 
She  was  nearly  wild. 

Now  came  Sunday.  She  did  not  dream  of 
being  so  wicked  as  to  touch  her  work  on  that 
day,  and  went  to  church  and  Sunday-school 
as  usual. 

The  sixth  morning  she  heard  the  word  she 
dreaded  unspeakably.  "  Liar ! "  was  first  spoken 
by  Jenny  and  then  shouted  at  her  by  Jenny's 
friends. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  to  a  liar ! "  said 
one,  turning  away  from  her. 

"  My  mother  will  not  allow  me  to  associate 
with  untruthful  persons  !  "  said  another  with 
pursed-up  lips.  All  turned  their  backs  on  her 
except  faithful  Dora,  who  clung  to  her  though 
weeping.  At  recess  no  one  would  speak  to 


BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE  15 

her;  at  noon,  when  all  brought  lunch  and 
usually  ate  it  socially  and  had  fine  games  after 
it,  the  girls  gathered  in  groups,  talking  in  low 
tones,  except  when  they  wished  to  fling  a  word 
at  her  or  make  a  remark  to  another  about  her, 
or  at  her  —  you  know  how. 

As  for  Barbara,  she  never  left  her  desk ;  she 
had  brought  no  lunch ;  she  bent  over  her  geo- 
graphy, and  pretended  not  to  hear  anything. 

That  day  her  distressed  teacher  kept  her 
again,  and  after  trying  in  vain  to  induce  her 
to  tell  the  truth,  said  she  should  have  to  send 
a  note  to  her  parents,  and  she  kept  her  while 
she  wrote  it,  and  gave  it  to  her  to  deliver. 

Why  did  she  put  such  a  dreadful  tempta- 
tion before  the  tortured  girl?  All  the  long 
way  home  Barbara  battled  with  herself  about 
delivering  that  note,  and  she  ended  —  so  far 
had  her  thoughtless  boasting  brought  her  — 
by  tearing  it  to  bits. 

The  seventh  evening  she  completed  the 
braided  band  to  hang  the  basket  by  and  fas- 
tened it  on.  Now  only  remained  the  tassels, 
and  she  hoped  one  day  more  would  end  it. 


16       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BAEBARA 

She  was  tempted  that  day  to  play  truant, 
but  she  could  not  bear  that  her  enemies  should 
think  they  had  driven  her  away,  so  she  took 
her  place  as  usual.  That  dreadful  day  her  dear 
Dora,  whose  trusting  faith  when  every  one 
else  had  doubted  her  had  helped  very  much 
to  keep  her  up,  was  absent.  No  one  conde- 
scended to  tell  her  why,  for  now  she  was  let 
severely  alone,  the  worst  punishment  possible 
for  schoolgirls  to  inflict.  She  was  an  outcast ! 

Her  teacher  asked  her  if  she  had  brought 
an  answer  to  her  note,  and  Barbara  told  her 
"  no,"  though  she  felt  sure  her  teacher  must 
know  from  her  guilty  looks  the  truth.  She 
could  not  recite ;  she  was  almost  unconscious 
of  what  was  going  on  about  her. 

At  noon  her  teacher  talked  to  her  again 
and  told  her  she  thought  she  should  have  to 
expel  her,  —  such  complete  failure  in  lessons, 
such  obstinate  refusal  to  explain ;  she  could 
not  have  such  an  example  before  the  others ; 
it  was  affecting  the  scholarship  of  the  school ; 
and  in  fact  she  should  go  and  talk  to  her 
parents  that  afternoon.  As  for  Barbara,  she 


BARBARA'S   RASH  PROMISE  17 

told  her  she  might  go  home  then ;  it  was 
worse  than  useless  for  her  to  stay  there.  She 
told  her  besides  to  take  her  books  with  her. 

Utterly  heart-broken  and  crushed,  Barbara 
gathered  up  her  books  and  left  the  school 
where  she  had  been  so  happy.  Her  whole  life 
seemed  spoiled.  She  was  disgraced ;  dismissed 
from  school  with  the  name  of  liar  fastened 
upon  her.  She  dragged  herself  home,  with  a 
splitting  headache,  slipped  into  the  side  door, 
and  stole  up  to  her  room  without  being  seen 
by  anybody ;  and  then  —  though  she  could 
not  keep  the  tears  from  rolling  over  her  cheeks 
—  she  would  not  give  up  till  she  had  finished 
the  last  tassel  and  hung  the  hated  thing  upon 
the  wall. 

"  They  may  hate  me  and  dismiss  me  and 
kill  me  if  they  like,"  was  her  wild  cry  as  she 
threw  herself  on  the  bed,  "but  they  shall 
never  call  me  a  liar  again." 

Now  she  gave  up  to  her  grief ;  she  cried  and 
sobbed  and  could  not  stop  ;  she  shivered  and 
then  burned,  and  in  fact,  though  she  did  not 
know  it,  she  was  in  a  raging  fever. 


18       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Meanwhile  the  hours  flew  by,  and  at  the 
hour  when  she  should  have  come  from  school, 
her  mother  was  startled  to  see  the  teacher  in- 
stead. The  whole  shameful  story  was  told.  Her 
mother  was  grieved  and  shocked,  but  when 
the  fact  came  out  that  Barbara  had  started  for 
home  at  noon,  she  was  seriously  alarmed. 

The  whole  family  was  questioned,  but  no 
one  had  seen  her,  and  her  father  was  sent  for. 
It  was  feared  that  she  had  run  away,  or  thrown 
herself  into  the  lake,  as  she  had  sometimes 
threatened  when  she  was  angry. 

Fortunately  she  was  found  before  the  pub- 
lic search  began,  but  even  then  her  mother 
was  not  at  rest,  for  Barbara's  face  was  burn- 
ing and  she  was  in  a  high  fever  and  hardly 
knew  what  she  said. 

"  There  it  is ! "  she  cried  as  she  opened 
the  door  at  her  father's  stern  command,  and 
pointed  to  the  basket  hanging  on  the  wall; 
"  there 's  the  hateful  thing !  "  she  went  on 
wildly,  "  that 's  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  ! 
but  it  is  done  and  they  shall  never  call 
me  liar  again  !  "  and  she  laughed  —  a  laugh 


BARBARA'S  RASH  PROMISE  19 

that  was  like  that  of  a  maniac.  The  whole 
family  crowded  into  the  room,  surprised  and 
alarmed. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  demanded  her 
father. 

"  Miss  Grey  knows  !  "  she  screamed,  "  but 
perhaps  she  won't  tell,  for  she  hates  me  and 
she 's  going  to  expel  me !  I  wish  I  was  dead ! " 
she  added. 

"  Clear  the  room  !  "  said  her  father.  "  Ned, 
go  for  the  doctor !  The  child  does  n't  know 
what  she 's  saying  !  There 's  something  more 
here  than  appears.  I  shall  sift  this  to  the 
bottom." 

The  room  was  cleared,  except  of  her  mother, 
who  made  her  go  to  bed,  calmed  and  soothed 
her  till  the  doctor  came,  who  gave  her  a  sleep- 
ing dose,  and  the  next  week  or  two  was  ever 
a  blank  in  her  memory. 

Meanwhile,  by  close  inquiry  among  the  girls 
at  school,  with  the  clues  Barbara  gave  in  her 
raving,  the  whole  truth  came  out,  and  Miss 
Grey,  holding  the  finished  basket  in  her  hand, 
had  given  the  girls  a  lecture  they  never  forgot 


20       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

on  the  vice  of  boasting  and  the  crime  of  tor- 
turing another. 

During  the  days  Barbara's  life  was  in  dan- 
ger, gloom  hung  over  the  school,  where  she 
had  many  true  friends  in  spite  of  the  way  they 
had  treated  her  when  they  thought  her  un- 
truthful ;  and  when  she  was  pronounced  con- 
valescent they  came  in  a  body  to  see  her, 
though  they  were  not  allowed  to  do  so,  for  she 
was  too  weak  to  endure  it. 

They  loaded  her  with  flowers,  however, 
every  day  lovely  fresh  bouquets,  and  she  rap- 
idly recovered,  though  her  not  very  strong 
constitution  had  received  a  great  shock. 


CHAPTER  H 

BARBARA'S  HOME 

I  MUST  tell  you  how  it  was  that  Barbara's 
happiest  times  were  at  school ;  it  was  because 
she  was  not  happy  at  home. 

She  had  a  pleasant  home  and  a  loving  father 
and  mother,  but  when  she  was  about  ten  years 
old  —  long  before  this  story  begins  —  some- 
thing happened  that  made  her  very  unhappy, 
though  it  was  all  because  of  a  mistake.  This 
thing  was  the  coming  to  live  in  her  home 
of  an  aunt  and  a  cousin  two  or  three  years 
older  than  herself. 

When  Barbara  heard  that  she  was  going  to 
have  a  playmate  she  was  delighted,  for  she  had 
no  sister  and  had  always  longed  for  one.  She 
went  at  once  to  prepare  for  the  great  event; 
her  dolls  and  their  clothes  were  put  in  order ; 
her  playhouse  in  the  attic  was  thoroughly 
cleaned,  and  a  thousand  questions  were  asked 
about  the  newcomer. 


22       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

She  learned  that  the  cousin,  Janet,  though 
a  little  older  than  herself,  would  doubtless  — 
her  mother  thought  —  like  to  play  with  dolls; 
of  course  she  would  go  to  school,  and  Barbara 
was  warned  to  be  very  kind  to  her  because  she 
had  no  father. 

Barbara  was  prepared  to  welcome  her 
warmly  as  a  sister  when  Janet  and  her  mother 
arrived.  Disappointments  began  the  first  hour. 
Janet  declined  Barbara's  invitation  to  go  and 
look  at  a  new  brood  of  chickens,  and  when 
Barbara  offered  to  show  her  her  dolls,  she  said 
primly  that  she  did  n't  care  for  dolls. 

This  was  a  great  blow  to  Barbara,  for  she 
lived  in  her  world  of  dolls.  They  were  to  her 
society  and  the  playmates  she  was  too  shy  to 
seek,  for  she  was  born  the  most  diffident  of 
girls,  and  had  not  yet  made  the  school  ac- 
quaintances spoken  of  in  the  previous  chapter. 

This  blow  was  only  the  first ;  it  turned  out 
that  Janet  was  different  from  Barbara  in  all 
her  tastes  and  her  ways.  She  was  a  prim  little 
personage  who  never  soiled  her  hands  or 
mussed  her  clothes.  She  had  no  childish  tastes, 


BARBARA'S  HOME  23 

and  she  did  not  go  to  scHool,  but  had  lessons 
with  her  mother  at  home.  She  preferred  to 
be  dressed  and  stay  with  her  mother  and  aunt 
in  the  house,  while  Barbara  roamed  the  place, 
spent  hours  in  the  orchard,  and  loved  nothing 
better  than  to  take  a  book  and  climb  into  the 
haymow  where  no  one  could  find  her,  and 
she  could  read  in  peace  and  comfort.  To  be 
dressed  in  clothes  of  which  she  must  be  care- 
ful was  torture  to  Barbara,  and  to  sit  in  the 
parlor  and  look  at  stupid  books  on  the  centre 
table  tired  her  dreadfully.  The  two  girls 
could  not  have  differed  more  if  they  had  been 
of  different  races  instead  of  near  relations. 

Barbara  was  sadly  disappointed,  —  as  I  said, 
-  but  perhaps  that  would  not  have  had  much 
effect  on  her  but  for  two  things.  First,  the 
two  mothers,  hoping  to  have  their  daughters 
friends,  decided  to  dress  them  alike,  —  a  cus- 
tom in  those  days.  This  was  a  most  unfortu- 
nate plan  for  Barbara,  for  in  her  free-and- 
easy  out-door  ways  she  soiled  and  tore  her 
clothes,  while  Janet,  always  primly  in  the 
house,  kept  hers  in  perfect  trim.  In  order  to 


24       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

keep  the  two  always  dressed  alike  it  was  there- 
fore necessary  to  provide  Barbara  with  two 
dresses  and  two  aprons  to  Janet's  one,  and 
what  was  worse  gave  Janet  a  chance  to  com- 
pare herself  with  her  careless  cousin. 

"  Auntie,"  she  would  say  with  prim  little 
lips,  "  see  how  dirty  Barbara  has  got  her 
apron  !  Mine,  you  see,  is  quite  clean." 

This  would  draw  a  gentle  reproof  from  her 
mother. 

"  And  see  her  hair!  "  Janet  would  go  on, 
encouraged ;  "  there  's  hay  on  her  head ;  she 's 
been  in  the  barn  !  Is  n't  the  barn  a  very 
dirty  place  ?  " 

"  Barbara,"  her  mother  would  say  gently, 
"  you  know  I  don't  like  you  to  climb  up  on 
the  hay ;  I'm  afraid  you  '11  fall  and  get  hurt." 

Then  Janet,  having  got  Barbara  into  dis- 
grace, would  look  so  very  meek  and  virtuous 
that  Barbara  would  have  to  run  out  of  doors 
to  keep  from  calling  her  names  or  even  strik- 
ing her. 

The  consequence  of  all  this  was  that  Bar- 
bara was  constantly  reproved  by  her  too  gen- 


BARBAEA'S  HOME  25 

tie  mother.  And  there  was  still  worse  ;  Janet 
being  older  and  dependent  upon  Barbara's 
father,  Barbara's  unselfish  mother  seemed  to 
make  more  of  her  than  of  her  own  daughter. 
Reproaching  herself  that  she  could  not  love 
Janet  much,  she  tried  to  make  up  for  it  by 
lavishing  more  upon  her  than  upon  her  own. 
When  presents  were  given  Janet  always  had 
a  little  more,  a  little  better,  than  Barbara. 

When  Barbara  complained  that  this  was 
unfair,  as  she  did  at  first,  her  mother  replied, 
"But  it's  because  she  is  older  than  you,  dear; 
and  besides  she  is  our  guest,  and  we  always 
give  the  best  to  our  guest." 

This  did  not  seem  fair  to  Barbara,  and 
though  she  did  not  say  any  more  about  it,  she 
laid  it  up  in  her  heart,  and  made  up  her  mind 
that  her  own  mother  did  not  love  her. 

If  she  had  been  less  shy  and  had  told  her 
mother  the  dreadful  thing  she  was  thinking, 
all  would  have  been  made  clear  to  her ;  but 
she  never  spoke  of  it.  She  brooded  over  it 
day  by  day,  growing  all  the  time  more  re- 
served, more  sure  that  she  was  right,  and  of 


26   WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

course  more  unhappy.  She  never  thought  of 
asking  advice  or  help  in  anything;  she  lived 
in  her  father's  house  almost  like  a  stranger, 
perfectly  sure  that  no  one  at  home  loved  her 
or  cared  for  her. 

One  confidant,  one  comfort,  she  had, — 
her  journal.  Into  that  she  poured  all  the  feel- 
ings she  hid  from  the  world,  and  being  fond 
of  writing  she  filled  pages  every  night  after 
she  had  gone  to  her  room  to  go  to  bed. 

The  journal  at  last  made  serious  trouble. 
One  day,  not  long  before  my  story  begins, 
Barbara  accidentally  left  unlocked  the  drawer 
where  she  kept  the  precious  volume.  Janet  in 
her  prying  way  got  hold  of  it,  and  partly  read 
it.  She  had  hardly  chance  to  do  more  than 
glance  at  it  when  Barbara  was  at  school,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window  every  minute  to  see  if 
she  was  coming. 

She  read  enough,  however,  to  make  her  very 
angry,  and  when  Barbara  came  home  she 
found  a  storm  raging, — Janet  more  prim  than 
usual,  quite  pleased  to  have  made  a  sensation, 
her  own  mother  in  distress,  and  Aunt  Jane  in 


BARBARA'S  HOME  27 

tears,  declaring  that  she  could  not  stay  where 
her  fatherless  child  was  hated. 

Barbara  was  met  by  reproving  words  from 
her  mother,  and  when  she  learned  that  all  this 
commotion  was  because  Janet  had  read  her 
journal  and  told  what  she  remembered,  or 
thought  she  remembered,  she  was  furious  at 
first,  charging  Janet  with  stealing  her  book ; 
and  then  —  when  Janet  in  turn  got  angry  and 
told  more  and  more  things  she  said  she  had 
seen  in  the  book  —  Barbara  boldly  declared 
she  was  a  liar. 

Then  when  her  father  came  upon  the  scene 
and  tried  to  get  at  the  truth,  for  Janet  made 
assertions  which  Barbara  indignantly  denied, 
he  said  at  last  something  that  sent  Barbara  to 
her  room  like  a  flash  :  "  The  only  way  we  can 
get  at  the  truth  is  to  have  the  journal  read." 

Have  it  read !  her  inmost  thoughts !  her 
most  secret  hopes  and  wishes  read  to  the  fam- 
ily !  —  she  would  die  first ! 

She  hurried  out  of  the  room,  ran  like  a  mad 
creature  to  her  bureau,  which  she  found  with 
the  key  in  the  lock,  snatched  the  fatal  book, 
X 


rushed  down  the  back  stairs,  tearing  off  the 
heavy  covers  as  she  went,  and  stuffed  it  into 
the  kitchen  stove,  poking  it  in  and  watching 
to  see  that  every  word  was  burned,  paying  no 
heed  —  if  she  even  heard  —  to  the  warning 
of  the  maid,  who  declared  she  would  set  the 
house  on  fire.  It  tore  her  very  heart  to  do 
this;  it  was  like  burning  a  part  of  herself; 
but  she  was  in  such  a  rage  of  terror  and  fury 
that  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing,  and 
when  it  was  ended  she  rushed  back  to  her  room 
and  flung  herself  on  the  bed,  sobbing  bitterly. 

She  was  aroused  by  her  father's  voice,  very 
stern :  — 

"  Daughter !  come  down  and  bring  the  jour- 
nal!" 

"  I  can't !  "  cried  Barbara  ;  "  it 's  all  burnt 
up!" 

"What?"  cried  her  father. 

"  I  've  burnt  it  up,"  sobbed  Barbara.  "  You 
may  kill  me  now  —  but  no  one  shall  ever 
read  it ! " 

"Kill  you?"  said  her  father  more  gently. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


BARBARA'S  HOME  29 

Barbara  was  in  such  a  rage  that  her  diffi- 
dence slipped  away  from  her,  and  for  once  she 
spoke  her  inmost  heart. 

"  I  know  you  and  mother  don't  love  me ! " 
she  burst  out  in  hot  words;  "you  love  Janet 
best  and  she 's  lied  about  me,  and  you  believe 
her  —  'n'  I  wish  I  was  dead  !  'n'  I  '11  run  away 
'n'  never  come  back  —  I  will !  rl  will !  " 

Barbara  was  never  in  such  a  passion  before 
or  after,  for  her  parents,  shocked  by  this  reve- 
lation of  her  feelings,  hushed  the  matter  up 
and  made  much  of  her.  But  she  was  not  to  be 
petted  out  of  the  belief  she  had  taken  into  her 
heart,  — that  Janet  was  loved  and  she  was  not. 

Her  unhappiness  at  home  —  as  I  said  — 
was  the  reason  that  Barbara  loved  school 
where  she  could  forget  Janet  and  her  own 
misery.  And  this  was  why  the  trouble  over 
that  foolish  basket  was  so  hard  to  bear. 


CHAPTER  III 

UNCLE  KARL 

WHILE  Barbara  after  her  illness  was  still  creep- 
ing around  the  house,  pale  and  thin,  without 
much  of  her  old  liveliness,  they  were  one  day 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  Uncle  Karl.  This 
favorite  artist  uncle  lived  away  off  in  the  West 
and  not  often  got  so  far  from  home. 

"  Why,  Barbara  ! "  he  said  when  he  met  her, 
"what's  the  matter  with  you?  Where  are 
the  rosy  cheeks  and  bright  eyes  you  had  the 
last  time  I  saw  you  ?  " 

Barbara  did  not  reply ;  she  could  not  speak ; 
the  loving  tone  brought  the  ready  tears  to 
her  eyes,  and  her  mother  answered,  "  Barbara 
has  been  ill,  and  is  just  getting  well." 

"Well;  I'll  tell  you  what,  Sister  Mary; 
you  must  let  her  go  home  with  me !  We  don't 
have  any  pale  cheeks  out  in  Minnesota  !  I  '11 
send  her  back  rosy  and  gay  as  a  lark!  Will 


UNCLE  KARL  31 

you  go,  girlie  ?  "  turning  to  Barbara,  who  had 
brightened  at  the  thought. 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  to  go,"  she  said  eagerly, 
for  there  was  nothing  she  liked  much  better 
than  traveling,  and  no  one  on  earth  that  she 
loved  better  than  Uncle  Karl. 

"  Why  !  "  said  her  mother,  moved  by  Bar- 
bara's eager  looks,  "  I  don't  know  but  it  would 
be  a  good  thing  for  her ;  we  've  been  think- 
ing she  would  be  better  for  a  change." 

"  Then  it 's  settled  !  "  said  Uncle  Karl  gayly. 
"  Run  and  pack  up  your  duds,  girlie ;  we  '11 
be  off  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  "  said  her  mother,  "  she 
can't  get  off  so  soon  as  that  —  and  besides, 
I'll  have  to  talk  to  her  father." 

Barbara's  face  fell,  but  Uncle  Karl  encour- 
aged her.  "I'll  talk  to  Brother  James  my- 
self ;  and  I  '11  wait  a  few  days  for  her,  though 
you  must  n't  forget,  Sister  Mary,  that  we  live 
in  the  backwoods  and  she  won't  need  any 
finery." 

"  I  thought  you  lived  in  a  village !  "  said 
Barbara's  mother  doubtingly. 


32       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  We  do,  of  course  !  "  Uncle  Karl  hastened 
to  explain,  "  but  it 's  in  the  Far  West,  you 
know,  and  what  you  down-easters  consider  the 
woods." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  there  are  woods  !  "  Barbara  put 
in  earnestly. 

"  There  are  —  close  by ;  you  '11  have  woods 
enough,  I  promise  you." 

"  Oh,  mother!  "  wailed  Barbara,  "do  let  me 
go !  I  never  lived  near  the  woods — and  I  want 
to  so  much !  " 

Her  mother  noticed  the  color  in  Barbara's 
cheeks,  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  and  made 
up  her  mind  that  the  change  was  the  very 
thing  for  her.  That  evening  she  talked  to  her 
husband,  and  it  was  settled  that  Barbara  should 
go  home  with  Uncle  Karl. 

"But,"  said  Barbara's  mother  in  talking 
it  over  the  next  morning,  "  what  will  Sister 
Betty  say  about  it  ?  How  will  she  like  an  un- 
invited guest  ?  " 

"  She  '11  be  delighted,  I  know,"  said  Uncle 
Karl,  "  and  besides,  Barbara  '11  be  my  guest, 
and  live  in  the  studio  with  me." 


UNCLE  KARL  33 

Barbara's  mother  looked  surprised,  and  he 
went  on  —  laughing :  — 

"  Oh,  she  '11  sleep  and  eat  in  the  house,  of 
course,  and  no  doubt  her  aunt  '11  train  her  in 
housekeeping  ways  —  she 's  a  famous  house- 
keeper, you  know,"  with  a  droll  look  that 
Barbara  understood  later ;  "  but  all  the  same, 
I  consider  myself  responsible  for  the  red  cheeks 
and  bright  eyes  I  promised,  and  my  studio  is 
the  finest  place  in  the  world  for  just  such 
girlies  as  Barbara.  She  '11  help  me  in  lots  of 
ways,  too,"  he  added,  as  he  noticed  the  eager 
look  in  Barbara's  eyes  and  the  doubting  one 
in  her  mother's. 

The  next  few  days  were  a  busy  whirl  in  the 
house.  A  traveling-dress  had  to  be  made,  and 
various  other  things  got  ready  before  the  trunk 
was  really  packed. 

A  queer  little  old-fashioned  thing  was  this 
trunk,  covered  with  horse-hide  with  the  hair 
left  on,  and  ornamented  with  a  great  display 
of  brass-headed  nails.  This  was  Barbara's  first 
journey  without  her  mother,  when  she  had  a 
trunk  to  herself;  and  great  was  the  excitement 


34       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

of  packing  it.  It  was  packed  and  unpacked  at 
least  a  dozen  times  before  it  was  really  locked 
and  corded,  and  a  neat  card  with  Barbara's 
name,  written  in  her  father's  plainest  hand, 
tacked  on  where  no  careless  baggageman  could 
fail  to  see  it. 

At  last  the  day  of  starting  came,  and  Bar- 
bara, with  a  brighter  look  already  on  her  face, 
said  good-by  to  the  family,  and  began  her  jour- 
ney with  Uncle  Karl  to  the  Far  West. 

All  this  was  a  good  many  years  ago,  and 
they  did  not  take  the  cars  and  whirl  across 
the  country  as  you  would  now ;  a  journey  was 
a  very  different  affair  in  those  days,  and  it  took 
several  days  and  nights  of  travel  to  reach 
Minnesota. 

The  first  part  of  the  journey  was  to  Buffalo 
by  the  Erie  Canal,  which  ran  through  New  York 
State  to  the  Great  Lakes.  Before  they  began 
their  boat  journey  there  was  a  fifty-mile  ride 
and  an  over-Sunday  visit  to  a  cousin  in  the  city 
through  which  the  canal  ran. 

This  ride  was  for  the  most  part  through  the 
open  country  with  one  small  bit  of  woods  about 


UNCLE  KARL  35 

the  middle  of  the  way.  It  was  the  custom  for 
travelers  to  take  their  own  lunch  to  eat  on  the 
way,  and  when  it  was  known  that  Barbara  was 
going  to  that  unknown  region  the  Far  West, 
and  no  one  could  tell  when  she  would  come 
back,  —  if  indeed  she  ever  did,  —  her  school- 
girl friends,  feeling  very  guilty  about  the  way 
they  had  treated  her,  had  a  strong  desire  to 
make  amends  to  her  in  some  way,  to  show  her 
that  their  old  love  for  her  was  not  dead. 

Saying  nothing  to  one  another,  each  girl 
began  to  plan  how  she  could  show  this,  and 
queerly  enough  it  happened  that  the  same  idea 
occurred  to  several  with  a  funny  result. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  FUNNY  LUNCH 

IT  happened  in  this  way :  On  that  Saturday 
morning  when  Barbara  and  Uncle  Karl  started 
on  their  long  journey,'  they  were  provided  at 
home  with  a  nice  luncheon,  packed  in  a  box 
under  the  seat  of  the  carriage. 

Hardly  had  they  turned  the  corner  when 
they  passed  the  house  of  Nelly  Hanford,  and 
there  she  stood  at  the  gate  with  a  big  package 
in  her  hands.  Seeing  the  carriage,  she  ran 
out  and  motioned  them  to  stop.  The  driver 
drew  up  his  horses,  and  Nelly  came  out  to  the 
carriage. 

"Barbara,"  she  said,  half  bashfully,  at  the 
same  time  handing  up'  the  package,  "  I  'm 
sorry  you  're  going  away ;  please  take  this  to 
eat  on  the  way." 

Barbara  was  about  to  explain  that  they  had 
already  more  than  they  could  eat,  but  Uncle 
Karl  spoke :  — 


A  FUNNY  LUNCH  37 

"  Thank  you  ;  it  was  kind  of  you  to  think 
of  us/'  and  took  the  package. 

When  they  had  passed  on,  Barbara  said, 
"  Why,  Uncle  Karl,  mother  put  up  more  than 
we  can  eat !  " 

He  replied,  "I  know  it,  girlie;  but  you 
would  n't  hurt  the  feelings  of  your  friend  by 
refusing  what  gives  her  so  much  pleasure  to 
offer!" 

Barbara  hadn't  thought  of  that,  but  she 
thanked  Uncle  Karl  for  thinking  for  her. 

Her  gravity  was,  however,  severely  tried 
at  the  next  corner,  where  Mamy  Field  was 
lying  in  wait  for  them,  with  a  box  neatly 
tied  up  with  a  ribbon.  This  she  offered  with 
blushes  and  a  stammering  word  of  how  sorry 
she  was  that  Barbara  was  going  away,  and  a 
hope  that  she  would  like  what  she  had  put 

up- 
Hard   as   it  was  to   keep  from   laughing, 

Barbara  thanked   her,  and  they  passed   on. 

Half-way  down  the  street  lived  Jenny  Green, 

and  as  they  came  in  sight  Barbara  cried :  — 
"  There 's  Jenny  Green !    Uncle  Karl,  do 


38       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

you  suppose  — "  and  there  came  from  Sam 
the  driver  a  low  "  Golly  !  here 's  another  ! " 

Sure  enough ;  Jenny  stopped  them  and 
offered  a  small  basket,  while  Barbara  nearly 
choked  trying  to  keep  a  sober  face  and  thank 
her  properly. 

But  that  was  not  the  end.  While  Barbara 
was  struggling  with  her  emotions,  Sam  broke 
out  with :  — 

"  Je-ru-sa-lem  !  still  they  come  !  "  and  drew 
up  beside  Kate  Wilson,  who  stood  smiling 
and  holding  up  a  pretty  box. 

"I  thought—  "she  began,  "I  made  some 
cookies  this  morning — and  I  thought  you 
might  like  some  for  lunch  in  the  woods." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Kate !  "  said  Barbara  with 
shining  eyes.  "  I  'm  sure  we  shall  enjoy  them 
—  I  like  cookies  ever  so  much  !  " 

"I'm  so  sorry  you're  going  away,"  said 
Kate  earnestly.  "  I  do  hope  you  '11  come  back 
soon ! " 

Seeing  how  hard  Barbara  found  it  to  say 
anything,  Uncle  Karl  came  to  the  rescue,  and 
said  heartily :  — 


A  FUNNY  LUNCH  39 

"I  mean  to  bring  her  back  a  good  deal 
rosier  than  she  is  now.  Good-morning  !  "  and 
away  they  went. 

In  a  moment  or  two  came  another  low 
explosion  from  the  astonished  driver. 

"Gee-whillikens!  if  there  ain't  another!  Do 
they  think  we're  an  orphan  asylum?"  and  he 
stopped  again  while  Mate  Durgin  offered  her 
package,  and  Barbara  choked  and  gasped  and 
got  red  in  the  face,  while  Uncle  Karl  blandly 
thanked  the  rather  surprised  giver. 

Barbara  was  still  almost  convulsed  when 
Sam  broke  out  again. 

"  Now  see  here,  mister !  I  shall  have  to 
take  to  the  back  streets  —  this  is  cruelty  to 
animals !  Have  n't  they  any  mercy  on  my 
horses  ?  "  and  he  drew  up  beside  the  walk  to 
receive  a  box  from  Jane  Carter,  which  Uncle 
Karl  accepted  with  thanks,  while  Barbara 
buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  and  ap- 
peared to  be  convulsed  with  emotion,  —  as 
indeed  she  was ;  but  not  tears,  as  Jane  sup- 
posed. 

Hastily  Sam  started  up  his  horses,  and  Uncle 


40       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

Karl  said,  "Do  many  more  of  your  friends 
live  on  this  street,  girlie  ?  If  so,  I  think  we 
better  try  another  —  or,  Sam,"  as  a  new 
thought  struck  him,  "  could  n't  you  look  the 
other  way  and  not  see  them  ?  This  is  getting 
serious  ! " 

"  'Deed,  sir,"  said  Sam,  turning  around  to 
answer,  "  they  all  looks  so  pretty  and  plead- 
in',  I  hain't  the  heart  to  disapp'int  'em  !  " 

Barbara  was  past  speaking  to  her  friends  as 
one  after  another  stopped  the  carriage  and 
offered  her  package.  She  kept  her  face  buried 
in  her  handkerchief,  and  Uncle  Karl  had  to 
do  all  the  talking,  and  indeed  he  was  getting 
rather  anxious  about  Barbara,  who  was  still 
weak,  and  did  n't  seem  able  to  control  herself. 

But  as  long  as  they  were  passing  through 
this  part  of  the  town,  package  and  box  and 
basket  followed  one  another,  and  were  added 
to  the  pile  on  the  bottom  of  the  carriage, 
which  Uncle  Karl  kept  carefully  covered  with 
the  carriage  robe,  not  to  embarrass  the  eager 
givers. 

When  at  last  they  had  left  the  town  behind 


A  FUNNY  LUNCH  41 

them  and  were  nearing  the  woods,  Barbara  no 
longer  tried  to  smother  her  laugh,  but  had  it 
out,  and  Uncle  Karl  joined  heartily,  joking 
Barbara  about  her  appetite  and  making  that 
drive  a  very  jolly  one. 

When  they  reached  a  brook  about  half-way 
through  the  woods,  they  stopped  to  take  their 
lunch,  and  Sam  prepared  the  noon  feed  for 
the  horses,  asking  Barbara  if  he  had  n't  better 
offer  them  bread  and  butter,  while  Uncle 
Karl  brought  out  the  packages  and  Barbara 
laid  them  on  the  grass  and  opened  them.  They 
held  almost  every  kind  of  dainty  known  to 
schoolgirls.  Nelly  Hanford  had  sensibly 
brought  chicken  sandwiches;  Mamy  Field's 
box  held  cake  and  a  pot  of  jam ;  Jenny  Green's 
contained  hard-boiled  eggs  and  pickles ;  Mate 
Durgin  contributed  doughnuts  and  cheese. 

There  were  tarts  and  pastries  of  various 
kinds,  and  candies,  and  preserves,  and  in  fact 
goodies  enough  to  have  feasted  a  mob  of  school- 
girls. 

When  the  whole  was  kid  out,  Uncle  Karl 
looked  on  'with  dismay,  while  Barbara  had  a 


42       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

fit  of  laughing  that  ended  in  hysterical  sobs, 
and  Sam  filled  the  air  with  roars  of  laughter. 

When  they  had  calmed  down  and  eaten  as 
much  as  they  could,  Barbara  having  tasted  of 
each  thing  so  as  to  enjoy  the  contribution  of 
each  friend,  the  next  thing  was  what  to  do 
with  it  all ;  how  to  dispose  of  it  in  such  a  way 
as  not  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  the  givers  by 
letting  them  hear  of  it. 

Several  plans  were  discussed,  and  no  way 
out  of  the  dilemma  reached,  till  Uncle  Karl, 
noticing  a  rather  eager  look  on  Sam's  face, 
had  a  bright  thought. 

"  Sam,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  any  big 
family  to  whom  all  these  nice  things  would 
be  acceptable  and  who  would  n't  know  where 
they  came  from?  " 

"  Why  !  "  said  Sam,  scratching  his  head,  a 
little  embarrassed,  "  I  don't  know  any  bigger 
lot  of  young-ones  than  lives  in  my  own  cabin  — 
'n'  if  young  missy  really  wants  to  get  rid  of 
'em,  —  quiet  like,  —  why,  I  '11  be  glad  to  re- 
lieve her  of  'em  — an'  nothin'  said."  So  it  was 
arranged,  and  when  Sam  drove  back  to  his 


A  FUNNY  LUNCH  43 

home  that  evening  he  surprised  his  wife  and 
delighted  his  six  children  with  such  a  supper 
as  they  never  had  before. 

And  he  kept  his  word  about  telling.  Not 
even  his  wife  knew  where  he  had  found  such 
a  treasure.  He  always  said  he  found  it  in  the 
woods,  and  his  wife  supposed  it  was  left  there 
by  some  picnic  party. 

But  the  memory  of  it  always  caused  Uncle 
Karl  and  Barbara,  whenever  they  thought  of  it, 
such  hearty  laughs  that  Uncle  Karl  declared 
that  schoolgirl  lunch  did  more  to  bring  Bar- 
bara back  to  health  than  anything  else. 


CHAPTER   V 

ON  A  CANAL  BOAT 

AFTER  a  quiet  Sunday  spent  with  the  cousin, 
Uncle  Karl  and  Barbara  made  their  way  to  the 
dock  where  lay  the  canal  boat  ready  to  be  off. 

It  was  a  queer-looking,  squatty  sort  of  a 
boat  with  a  flat  roof  not  much  above  the  tow- 
path.  They  stepped  over  the  low  railing  on 
the  side,  and  went  down  a  few  steps  into  the 
cabin,  to  deposit  their  hand  baggage. 

Barbara  looked  around  with  surprise,  won- 
dering where  they  were  to  sleep  and  eat,  for 
the  whole  inside  was  one  long  narrow  room, 
with  seats  built  along  both  sides.  There  were 
a  good  many  passengers,  and  Barbara  drew 
back. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Karl ! "  she  whispered,  "  where 
shall  I  put  my  things  ?  Where  am  I  going  to 
sleep?" 

"  You  '11  see,"  said  Uncle  Karl  with  twink- 
ling eyes.  "  This  is  a  sort  of  india-rubber  con- 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  45 

cern  ;  it  '11  stretch  out  for  a  dinner-table,  and 
beds  '11  grow  along  the  sides.  Put  your  things 
on  the  side  bench  and  come  on  deck,  that 's 
the  place  to  be ;  we  '11  stay  in  here  only  to  eat 
and  sleep." 

Somewhat  reassured,  though  still  wondering, 
Barbara  obeyed,  and  soon  they  were  seated 
on  chairs  on  top  of  the  boat,  the  horses  had 
started  up  the  tow-path,  and  they  were  slowly 
moving. 

"There!  isn't  this  fine?"  asked  Uncle 
Karl  as  they  passed  street  after  street.  "  We  '11 
soon  be  out  of  the  city  and  then  we  '11  have 
the  lovely  country  to  look  at ;  this  beats  the 
stage  ah1  hollow  !  " 

"  It 's  awful  nice,"  said  Barbara,  "  but  I 
don't  see  — 

"  Of  course  you  don't,"  interrupted  her 
uncle  ;  "  but  take  my  word  for  it,  you  '11  find 
it  all  right  and  comfortable.  We  're  going  to 
live  in  this  boat  two  or  three  days,  you  know; 
we  have  more  than  two  hundred  miles  to  ride 
on  it,  and  we  shall  see  all  the  towns  and  the 
fields  and  the  woods  between  here  and  Buffalo, 


46       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

and  I  don't  know  any  state  prettier  to  ride 
through  than  old  New  York.  Don't  you 
worry,  girlie ;  I  came  down  this  way,  and  I 
know." 

A  little  comforted,  though  still  wondering 
how  it  could  possibly  be,  Barbara  settled  her- 
self to  enjoy  the  landscape. 

By  this  time  they  had  passed  the  last  street 
and  were  going  through  gardens  and  past  coun- 
try houses,  and  before  long  they  came  to  the 
real  country.  Best  of  all,  in  an  hour  or  two  they 
passed  through  a  beautiful  piece  of  real  woods, 
—  tall  old  trees  near  together,  the  ground  un- 
der them  covered  with  fallen  leaves  and  mosses 
and  ferns,  where  many  little  flowery-looking 
plants  were  growing  —  one  of  the  loveliest 
spots  in  the  world  to  Barbara. 

How  she  longed  to  go  into  them  and  gather 
moss  and  ferns  and  perhaps  flowers,  and  how 
eagerly  she  listened  to  her  uncle,  who  told  her 
about  the  country  near  his  home  where  they 
were  going ! 

Their  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  ringing 
of  a  big  bell  at  the  cabin  door. 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  47 

"  That 's  supper,"  said  Uncle  Karl ;  "  let 's 
go  down." 

Down  they  went,  and  to  Barbara's  amaze- 
ment the  cabin  was  filled  its  whole  length  and 
width  with  a  table  loaded  with  supper.  There 
was  just  room  to  slip  in  beside  it,  and  the 
benches  on  the  side  were  the  seats  provided. 
The  first  comers  passed  to  the  end,  and  as 
others  came  in  they  took  the  seats  remaining; 
no  one  could  pass  another. 

Barbara  and  her  uncle  took  seats  together, 
and  soon  were  fully  occupied  with  the  meal. 
The  food  was  all  on  the  table,  for  no  waiter 
could  pass  around  it,  and  every  one  had  to 
help  himself. 

If  one  seated  along  in  the  middle  of  the 
table  finished  his  supper  before  the  others,  he 
could  not  leave  the  table,  but  was  obliged  to 
wait  till  those  nearest  the  end  had  left  the 
way  open. 

After  supper  they  went  again  on  deck,  and 
Barbara  was  full  of  questions. 

"  Uncle  Karl,  where  did  that  long  table 
come  from?" 


48       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"It  was  all  in  pieces,  and  packed  away 
somewhere,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "and  you'll 
see  more  wonders  at  bedtime ;  but  now  see, 
we  're  going  through  a  lock  !  " 

"  What 's  a  lock  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  It 's  where  the  canal  has  to  go  to  lower 
ground ;  you  see  it  can't  go  down  hill  like  a 
road,  for  the  water  would  all  run  away,  so  it 
has  to  go  down  steps ;  you  '11  see  how  we 
manage  it." 

Indeed,  Barbara  was  looking  eagerly,  for 
the  boat  had  got  into  a  sort  of  box  not  much 
larger  than  itself,  and  great  gates  were  shut 
behind  it,  so  that  it  could  n't  move  forward  or 
back.  Then  it  began  to  sink,  and  Barbara 
cried  out  in  terror. 

"  We  're  sinking,  Uncle  Karl !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Karl  calmly,  "we  sink 
a  little  way  to  the  level  of  the  next  piece  of 
the  canal." 

Down,  down  they  went,  till  the  deck  was 
on  a  level  with  the  ground ;  still  lower,  till 
it  was  far  below,  and  they  were  hemmed  in 
by  the  dripping  sides  of  their  box-like  prison. 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  49 

Barbara  was  alarmed;  it  did  look  danger- 
ous. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  she  cried,  "  we  shall  be 
drowned ! " 

"  No,  indeed,  girlie  !  don't  worry  !  that 's 
the  way  a  boat  has  to  go  downstairs." 

Sure  enough,  in  another  moment,  the  end 
of  the  box  at  the  front  end  of  the  boat  began 
slowly  to  open,  so  that  one  could  see  it  was 
formed  of  big  gates.  The  water  rushed  out 
and  the  boat  slowly  moved  on.  Barbara  drew 
a  sigh  of  relief.  They  had  taken  a  long  step 
down  and  now  came  out  into  a  pretty  coun- 
try, and  Barbara  was  again  happy. 

It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night  and  the 
boat  was  passing  through  woods,  which  so 
delighted  Barbara  that  she  could  n't  bear  to 
go  to  bed.  But  about  ten  o'clock  they  came 
to  a  town,  and  then  she  found  herself  very 
sleepy,  and  was  glad  to  go  below  again. 

When  they  opened  the  door  to  the  cabin, 
Barbara  stood  amazed.  This  surely  was  not 
the  place  where  they  had  eaten  supper  !  A  row 
of  rather  wide  shelves  lined  each  side  of  the 


room,  leaving  only  a  passage  between.  Before 
these  shelves  were  curtains,  and  about  half- 
way down,  another  curtain  stretched  across, 
dividing  the  cabin  into  two  rooms.  Not  a  per- 
son was  to  be  seen. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  gasped  Barbara. 

Uncle  Karl  laughed. 

"Now,  you  see,  girlie,"  he  said  quietly,  "I 
told  you  that  beds  grew  on  the  sides ;  beyond 
that  curtain  is  the  ladies'  bedroom,  and  this 
side  is  the  men's  bedroom." 

"  But  where  are  all  the  folks  ?  "  asked  Bar- 
bara, dismayed. 

"Gone  to  bed,  I  guess,"  said  Uncle  Karl, 
"and  I  must  hunt  up  somebody  to  show  you 
your  berth." 

At  that  moment  a  man's  head  was  thrust  out 
between  the  curtains,  and  Barbara  shrank  back. 

"  Oh,  uncle !  must  I  sleep  on  one  of  those 
shelves,"  she  whispered,  almost  in  tears.  "  I  'd 
rather  stay  on  deck  all  night." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Uncle  Karl, 
"  and  you  '11  find  it  not  so  bad ;  it 's  a  good 
deal  better  than  the  feather  beds  we  find 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  51 

sometimes.  Besides,  it 's  the  only  bed  you  '11 
have  for  several  nights,  remember." 

At  this  moment  a  colored  woman  appeared, 
who  told  Barbara  she  would  show  her  where 
to  go.  With  a  rather  tearful  good-night  kiss 
Barbara  left  Uncle  Karl  and  followed  the 
woman  to  the  ladies'  cabin  behind  the  curtain. 
There  she  pointed  to  a  berth  neatly  made  up, 
on  which  lay  Barbara's  traveling-bag  and 
other  things. 

"  That 's  your  berth,"  she  said. 

Barbara  looked  with  dismay ;  it  was  the 
upper  shelf,  and  a  woman  and  baby  were  al- 
ready asleep  in  the  lower  one. 

"  But  how  can  I  get  .up  there  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Can't  you  climb,  miss  ?  "  said  the  stew- 
ardess scornfully.  "  I  reckon  you  can  git  up  if 
you  try  hard  enough."  Then,  seeing  that  Bar- 
bara was  almost  in  tears,  she  relented.  "  You 
just  put  your  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  lower 
berth,  and  there  you  are !  " 

Suddenly  remembering  how  many  trees  she 
had  climbed  not  so  long  ago,  Barbara  thought 
she  could  manage  it. 


52       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  But,"  she  said,  looking  around, "  where  shall 
I  undress,  and  where  shall  I  put  my  clothes?  " 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  rather  notional,"  said 
the  woman.  "  You  're  'most  too  grand  for  a 
packet-boat !  you  're  used  to  a  coach  and  four, 
or  a  private  carriage  with  a  groom,  I  reckon." 
Then  rather  impatiently,  "  You  '11  undress 
right  here  and  leave  your  clothes  on  the  floor 
if  you  like ;  most  folks  are  n't  too  fine  to  take 
them  into  the  berth  with  them.  And  so  good- 
night, miss,"  she  added  as  she  raised  the  cur- 
tain to  leave. 

A  lantern  hanging  from  the  ceiling  gave 
a  dim  light,  and  after  the  stewardess  had 
gone,  Barbara  stood  a  moment  irresolute.  She 
could  n't  bear  to  undress  there,  and  she  knew 
she  could  n't  find  room  for  her  clothes  on  that 
shelf ;  and  besides,  she  thought,  what  if  any- 
thing should  happen  and  she  had  to  get  out 
in  a  hurry  ?  She  hesitated,  and  then  came  the 
thought,  "  I  '11  not  undress  at  all ;  then  I  shall 
be  ready  for  anything." 

Taking  off  her  hat,  and  not  finding  any 
place  to  put  it,  she  at  last  hung  it  up  by  pin- 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  53 

ning  the  strings  to  the  curtain.  She  then  put 
her  foot  on  the  edge  of  the  lower  berth,  as 
she  had  been  told,  and  was  instantly  greeted 
with  a  sharp  "  Who 's  that  ?  "  from  the  berth. 

"  It 's  only  me,"  said  Barbara  meekly ;  "  the 
woman  told  me  to  get  up  this  way." 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  stick  your  shoe  right 
into  my  face,"  said  the  voice  crossly;  "you 
should  n't  sit  up  half  the  night,  anyway,  and 
come  disturbing  folks  so  late." 

Barbara  had  nothing  to  say  to  this,  and  be- 
ing now  safely  in  her  berth  she  made  herself 
as  comfortable  as  she  could  with  her  clothes 
on,  and  being  really  tired  after  the  excitements 
of  the  day,  was  soon  asleep.  She  was  not  very 
comfortable,  however,  and  after  her  first  nap 
she  was  restless  and  tossed  and  tumbled  in  her 
narrow  bed,  two  or  three  times  just  saving 
herself  from  falling  out. 

In  the  morning  she  was  pale  and  tired ;  her 
clothes  were  twisted  every  way,  and  dreadfully 
mussed.  She  climbed  down  as  quietly  as  she 
could  and  was  trying  to  comb  and  braid  her 
hair,  when  the  curtains  of  the  lower  berth 


54   WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

parted  and  a  woman's  head  appeared ;  she 
eyed  Barbara  sharply. 

"  Slept  in  your  clothes,  I  guess  !  "  she  said. 
"  You  look  like  it !  You  're  the  uneasiest  crit- 
ter I  ever  knew;  kept  me  awake  half  the 
night.  I'll  get  the  stewardess  to  put  you 
somewhere  else  to-night.  How  're  you  going 
to  git  your  frock  decent?"  she  added. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Barbara,  looking  rue- 
fully at  the  wrinkled  condition  of  her  pretty 
new  dress. 

"  You  '11  have  to  git  the  stewardess  to  iron 
it  out  for  you,"  said  the  woman  more  kindly 
as  she  saw  how  distressed  Barbara  was. 

"  Well,  girlie  !  "  said  Uncle  Karl  when  she 
hurried  to  the  deck  and  found  him,  "  how  did 
you  sleep  ?  "  and  then  in  surprise,  "  What  ails 
your  dress  ?  " 

"  Why  —  why  —  "  stammered  Barbara,  "  I 
could  n't  bear  to  undress  down  there  and  I  — 
I  —  slept  in  it." 

"  Whew !  "  whistled  Uncle  Karl.  "  I  should 
think  you  did !  We  '11  have  to  get  it  pressed, 
I  guess." 


ON  A  CANAL  BOAT  55 

"  But  I  have  n't  anything  else  to  put  on," 
wailed  Barbara;  "and  there  is  n't  anyplace  to 
stay  —  and  —  and—  Genuine  tears  now 
choked  her  and  made  her  silent. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  dearie,"  said  Uncle 
Karl  soothingly.  "  We  '11  manage  some  way ; 
don't  cry !  See  what  a  lovely  country  this  is 
we  are  going  through  !  We  are  almost  to  the 

city  of  R .  That 's  a  fine  place  and  worth 

seeing." 

The  mussed  dress  turned  out  not  to  be  so 
bad  as  feared.  It  was  of  wool  and  of  rather  wiry 
texture,  so  that,  being  all  day  in  a  warm  sun, 
it  straightened  itself  out  a  good  deal,  and  by 
the  end  of  the  day  it  did  not  look  so  very  bad. 
But  that  night  Barbara  was  careful  to  take  it 
off  and  hang  it  up  by  the  simple  way  of  pin- 
ning it  to  the  curtain  in  front  of  her  berth. 

By  the  time  they  reached  Buffalo  Barbara 
had  got  used  to  sleeping  in  a  berth,  and  so  she 
was  not  disturbed  when  Uncle  Karl  led  her  on 
board  the  steamer  Empire  State,  which  was 
to  take  them  "  around  the  lakes." 

Here  Barbara  had  a  little  stateroom  to  her- 


56   WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

self,  and  Uncle  Karl  had  one  next  to  it,  so  that 
she  could  talk  to  him,  and  this  was  really  a 
charming  trip.  They  passed  through  Lake 
Erie,  then  the  little  St.  Glair,  next  Lake  Hu- 
ron, and  lastly  the  great  Lake  Michigan. 

It  took  them  several  days  to  get  through 
all  these  lakes,  but  Barbara  was  fond  of  the 
water,  and  besides  they  had  a  fine  band  on 
board,  and  every  evening  all  the  passengers 
came  into  the  great  saloon  where  the  band 
played  and  the  people  danced,  and  Barbara 
was  never  tired  of  listening  to  the  music  and 
looking  at  the  gay  scene.  She  was  really  sorry 
when  this  part  of  the  journey  came  to  an  end, 
and  they  landed  in  Chicago. 

The  next  part  of  the  journey  was  by  stage, 
a  great  old-fashioned  vehicle  with  three  seats 
and  a  place  behind  for  the  baggage.  It  was 
drawn  by  four  horses  and  rocked  like  a  cradle 
as  it  rolled  along. 

Two  days  and  a  night  they  passed  in  the 
stage,  stopping  at  small  towns  for  their  meals 
and  to  change  horses,  riding  all  night  as  well 
as  day,  sleeping  as  best  they  could  sitting  up. 


ON  A   CANAL  BOAT  57 

It  was  tiresome  work,  and  Barbara  was  very 
glad  when  they  reached  the  great  river  —  the 
Mississippi  —  where  they  were  to  take  to  the 
water  again.  This  time,  too,  Barbara  had  a 
little  stateroom  to  herself,  with  Uncle  Karl  in 
the  very  next  one,  and  the  trip  was  not  a  long 
one. 

When  they  reached  the  wharf  where  they 
were  to  take  another  stage  for  Uncle  Karl's 
home,  they  found  that  vehicle  waiting,  with  its 
four  horses  and  big,  red-faced  driver  on  the 
box,  ready  to  start.  The  baggage  was  brought 
out  and  soon  packed  on,  and  in  a  very  short 
time  they  were  off. 


CHAPTER  VI 

QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY 

AFTER  several  hours'  ride  Barbara  and  Uncle 
Karl  reached  the  village  where  he  lived,  and 
the  stage  stopped  in  front  of  a  nice-looking 
white  house  with  a  pretty  grassy  yard  in  front. 
Uncle  Karl  got  out  and  helped  Barbara  down. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  said. 

"  But  uncle !  "  said  Barbara,  "  the  house 
is  all  shut  up !  Aunt  Betty  must  have  gone 
away." 

Sure  enough ;  every  window  was  protected 
by  a  green  blind,  and  every  blind  was  shut 
tight ;  it  looked  entirely  deserted. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Uncle  Karl,  taking  out  the 
handbags  and  telling  the  stage  driver  where 
to  place  Barbara's  trunk.  "  Oh,  no ;  she 's  at 
home  all  right.  You  see,"  —  he  went  on  hur- 
riedly, as  they  walked  up  the  path,  —  "  your 
aunt  is  a  wonderful  housekeeper — wonderful! 
and  she  hates  a  fly  as  I  do  a  fop,  and  so  when 


QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY        59 

she  gets  the  house  all  in  order  she  just  shuts 
it  up  so  they  can't  get  in."  And  having  now 
reached  the  house  he  led  the  way  past  the 
front  steps  to  a  door  on  the  side. 

"I  guess  we'll  go  in  the  side  door,"  he 
said ;  "  that 's  always  unlocked."  As  he  spoke 
he  opened  the  door  and  hurried  Barbara  in  so 
that  no  fly  should  take  that  chance  to  enter. 
"When  he  shut  the  door  behind  her  it  was 
perfectly  dark. 

"  Betty !  "  he  called,  opening  the  door  into 
a  room  almost  as  dark  as  the  hall,  "  where 
are  you  ?  " 

A  voice  came  from  a  distance,  "  Up  here ; 
come  right  up." 

"  Here  's  Barbara,"  called  her  uncle  again. 
"  Come  down  and  see  her,  won't  you  ?  " 

In  a  moment  appeared  her  aunt,  a  tall,  thin 
woman  with  an  anxious-looking  face.  She 
kissed  Barbara,  and  said  she  was  glad  to  see 
her,  and  they  would  go  right  up  to  her  room. 
And  off  she  started. 

Barbara's  heart  sank.  Was  this  dungeon 
of  a  house  the  place  she  had  come  to  stay  in  ? 


60       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Was  this  fretful-looking  woman  —  so  afraid 
of  flies  and  daylight  —  really  her  aunt  ?  and 
must  she  live  with  her  ?  She  was  on  the  verge 
of  tears,  but  Uncle  Karl's  hearty  voice  com- 
forted her. 

"  When  you  get  off  your  things,  girlie, 
come  right  out  to  the  studio ;  that 's  where  I 
live."  And  to  his  wife,  "  Betty,  I  '11  send  the 
boys  to  carry  Barbara's  trunk  up." 

"  They  better  wait  till  after  dark,"  said  Aunt 
Betty  anxiously ;  "  they  '11  let  too  many  flies  in 
if  they  come  now." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Uncle  Karl.  "  Barbara 
won't  mind,  I'm  sure,  will  you,  girlie?" 

"  No,"  said  Barbara  faintly,  longing  to  hold 
on  to  him,  and  almost  fearing  to  go  with  her 
aunt. 

However,  as  Uncle  Karl  left  the  house,  slip- 
ping quickly  out  of  the  door  and  closing  it 
after  him,  she  had  to  follow  her  aunt  as  well 
as  she  could  through  the  dark.  She  stumbled 
over  chairs  and  bumped  against  tables,  for, 
coming  so  suddenly  out  of  the  bright  sun- 
shine, she  could  not  see. 


QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY        61 

"  It  seems  dark  to  you,"  said  her  aunt,  not 
unkindly,  as  they  climbed  the  stairs;  "  but  you 
see,  Barbara,  we  're  awfully  troubled  with  flies, 
and  they  do  ruin  nice  furniture  so,  I  can't 
bear  to  have  them  get  in.  I  sit  up  here,"  she 
said,  opening  the  door  of  a  large  cheerful- 
looking  room  at  the  very  back  of  the  house, 
and  carefully  shutting  the  door  after  they 
were  in.  There  stood  her  sewing  table  and 
her  low  chair,  and  indeed  it  was  plain  that 
this  back  chamber  was  the  real  living-room  of 
the  house.  Here  the  blinds  were  a  little  open, 
but  every  window  was  shut,  and  on  this  plea- 
sant fall  day  the  air  of  the  room  was  stifling. 

"  This  is  where  I  sit,"  said  Aunt  Betty ; 
"  here  you  '11  generally  find  me  after  I  get  the 
house  in  order  in  the  morning.  Your  room  is 
down  the  hall ;  I  '11  show  you."  And  return- 
ing to  the  dark  hall,  she  opened  a  door  and 
ushered  Barbara  into  another  dark  room ;  she 
stepped  to  the  window  and  turned  the  slats  of 
the  blinds  so  that  a  little  light  came  in,  and 
then  carefully  drew  down  the  sash  so  that  no 
vagrant  fly  should  slip  in  also. 

J  A 


62       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

It  was  a  pretty  little  room,  but  Barbara's 
pleasure  in  it  was  at  once  destroyed  by  her 
aunt's  next  remark. 

"  I  'd  like  to  have  you  be  careful,  Barbara, 
always  to  close  the  window  when  you  open 
the  slats,  or  you  '11  let  flies  in  all  over  the 
house.  You  won't  care  to  stay  here  much,  you 
know ;  you  '11  like  best  the  studio,  where 
your  uncle  does  n't  mind  flies.  There 's  one 
now  !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  making  a  wild  dash 
at  a  poor  little  straggler  who  must  have  been 
waiting  beside  the  window  to  slip  in  when  it 
was  opened  for  an  instant. 

To  Barbara's  amazement  now  began  a  mad 
chase  of  the  unfortunate  insect ;  snatching 
a  towel  from  the  rack,  Aunt  Betty  pursued 
the  frightened  creature  around  the  room,  strik- 
ing at  him  when  he  tried  to  escape  by  settling 
on  the  ceiling,  and  approaching  warily  when 
he  tried  to  seek  rest  for  the  soles  of  his  feet 
on  furniture  or  window. 

At  last  by  a  sudden  grab  of  the  towel  she 
secured  him,  and  cautiously  opening  the  win- 
dow a  crack,  she  cast  him  out  comfortless 


QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY       63 

upon  the  wide,  wide  world,  where  the  much 
bedraggled  and  utterly  discomfited  creature 
settled  on  the  outside  of  the  sill,  with  the  air 
of  thinking  over  the  adventure.  His  manner 
was  so  droll  that  Barbara  had  hard  work  to 
keep  from  laughing,  though  she  was  very  near 
to  crying  from  sudden  homesickness. 

"  You  can  lay  off  your  things  here  and 
wash  yourself  if  you  wish,  —  you  must  be 
dusty  after  that  stage  ride,"  said  her  aunt, 
"  and  then  I  presume  you  '11  like  to  go  to  the 
studio ;  or  if  you  like  to  come  to  see  me, 
you  '11  find  me  in  my  sewing-room." 

"  Where  is  the  studio  ? "  asked  Barbara 
faintly. 

"  You  go  out  the  side  door  where  you 
came  in,  and  just  go  down  the  walk  past  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  you  '11  see  it.  I  won- 
der your  uncle  did  n't  show  it  to  you :  he 's 
awful  fond  of  it ;  he  fairly  lives  there ;  he 
don't  care  a  snap  about  having  things  kept 
nice.  I  might  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone 
to  preserve  the  furniture  for  all  he'd  care," 
she  added  rather  bitterly. 


64       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Very  quickly  Barbara  threw  off  her  things, 
gave  herself  a  hasty  wash,  —  struggling  to 
keep  back  the  tears,  —  and  then  stumbled  her 
way  back  downstairs,  through  the  dismal 
dining-room,  —  in  which  she  wondered  if  they 
ever  ate,  —  out  of  the  door,  into  the  beautiful 
sunlight  once  more. 

Never  again  did  she  want  to  enter  that  dun- 
geon. She  had  a  wild  desire  to  run  away  that 
minute,  and  never,  never  come  back  ;  but  the 
sight  of  Uncle  Karl  standing  in  the  door  of 
a  low,  pleasant-looking  building  among  the 
apple-trees,  gave  her  courage.  She  ran  to  him, 
flung  herself  into  his  arms,  and  the  tears  burst 
forth  in  a  shower. 

"  Now,  girlie  !  "  he  said  soothingly,  patting 
her  back  while  the  flood  poured  over  his  shoul- 
der, "  now,  girlie,  don't  take  it  so  hard  !  this 
is  your  home,  you  know.  Your  aunt,  you  see," 
hesitating  just  how  to  put  it,  "your  aunt 
is  a  wonderful  housekeeper,  and  flies  are  to 
her  like  a  red  rag  to  a  bull ;  but  she  means  to 
make  us  all  comfortable  —  as  you  '11  see ;  only 
those  of  us  who  are  n't  so  very  nice  — why 


QUEER  WAYS   OF  AUNT  BETTY        65 

we  just  live  out  here.  Come  in,  girlie,"  and  he 
drew  her  into  a  large  light  room  with  doors 
and  windows  all  open,  and  easels  and  paints 
and  canvases  and  easychairs  all  around. 

The  first  glance  through  her  tears  showed 
Barbara  a  thousand  things  of  interest;  she 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  in  a  few  moments  was 
eagerly  questioning  Uncle  Karl  about  the 
things  she  saw. 

"  Now,"  said  her  uncle,  "  I  '11  fix  a  corner 
for  you ;  "  and  at  once  cleared  a  small  table  by 
sweeping  its  many  contents  onto  the  floor, 
saying,  — 

"  I  '11  look  them  over  and  put  them  away 
by  and  by." 

This  table  he  placed  near  a  low  window 
that  looked  away  from  the  house  into  the 
heart  of  the  orchard,  and  before  it  he  drew  up 
a  specially  comfortable  armchair. 

"  There,  girlie,  "  he  said  cheerfully, "  that 's 
your  corner;  you  can  bring  out  your  writ- 
ing things  or  your  sewing  things  —  if  you 
ever  sew,"  he  added  grimly,  "  and  keep  them 
on  that  table.  No  one  will  disturb  them;  we 
don't  sweep  out  here." 


66       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  No ;  I  see  you  don't,"  interrupted  Barbara, 
a  laugh  spreading  over  her  face  as  she  looked 
around  the  room. 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  laughing  too ; 
"  this  is  Liberty  Hall ;  it 's  a  sort  of  offset  to 
over  there,"  nodding  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  house.  "  We  can't  be  strenuous  all  the 
time ;  we  must  relax  sometimes  —  and  this  is 
the  place  we  do  it." 

"May  I  stay  here  with  you  all  the  time?" 
asked  Barbara  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  every  minute  you  choose,  but 
you  '11  get  acquainted ;  there  are  some  nice 
folks  here,  and  by  and  by  I  shan't  see  half  so 
much  of  you  as  I  want  to." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will !  I  shall  stay  here  al- 
ways." 

Just  then  a  bell  rang,  and  Uncle  Karl  hur- 
ried to  a  far  corner,where  he  washed  his  hands 
and  brushed  his  hair,  and  then  taking  Bar- 
bara's arm,  he  started  towards  the  door. 
"  That 's  supper,"  he  said  briefly. 

Barbara  shrank  back.  "  Oh,  I  don't  want 
any  supper,"  she  said. 


QUEER  WAYS  OF  AUNT  BETTY        67 

"  Yes,  you  do,  girlie;  don't  be  silly.  It  isn't 
so  bad  as  you  fear,  and  anyway  you'll  have 
to  get  used  to  it,  for  you  know  you  're  going  to 
live  with  me,  and  you  must  eat." 

Very  unwillingly  Barbara  went  with  Uncle 
Karl  back  to  the  house,  and,  picking  their  way 
through  the  dark  dining-room,  came  to  the 
large  kitchen,  where  light  enough  was  allowed 
to  enter  to  enable  them  to  see  to  eat. 

On  one  side,  far  enough  from  the  stove  to 
be  comfortable,  a  corner  was  evidently  fitted 
for  a  dining-room;  a  square  of  carpet  covered 
the  floor,  a  table  spread  for  the  evening  meal 
stood  ready. 

"  You  sit  here,  Barbara,"  said  her  aunt,  in- 
dicating one  of  the  chairs,  while  she  and  Uncle 
Karl  took  the  others.  The  supper  was  very 
good  and  abundant,  and  Barbara  was  hungry. 

"Where's  Mary?"  asked  Uncle  Karl,  look- 
ing around  the  kitchen. 

"  She 's  out  picking  the  currants,"  answered 
Aunt  Betty.  "  I  'm  going  to  make  jelly  to- 
morrow." 


CHAPTER  VH 

STKENUOUS  HOUSEKEEPING 

"  GIRLIE,"  said  Uncle  Karl  as  they  parted  for 
the  night  at  the  door  of  her  room,  where  Bar- 
bara found  her  trunk  already  placed,  her  bed 
opened,  and  a  candle  burning  on  the  stand, 
"  girlie,  you  're  tired  with  the  journey,  and  in 
the  morning  you  need  n't  get  up  till  you  want 
to.  I  '11  take  your  breakfast  out  to  the  studio 
for  you." 

She  hesitated.  "But  Aunt  Betty  —  " 
"  I  '11  arrange  it  with  your  aunt,"  he  said ; 
"to-morrow  is  sweeping-day,  and  she  and 
Mary  begin  work  very  early,  so  you  need  n't 
stir- if  you  hear  them ;  you  just  come  out  to 
me  the  first  thing." 

Barbara  was  tired,  and  only  unpacking 
enough  to  get  out  night  clothes,  she  quickly 
jumped  into  bed  and  was  asleep  in  a  minute, 
first,  however,  quietly  opening  her  window,  for 
she  felt  that  she  should  smother. 


STRENUOUS  HOUSEKEEPING  69 

Before  it  was  really  light  she  awoke  to  hear 
strange  noises  downstairs.  Chairs  and  tables 
seemed  to  be  dragged  about,  and  she  was  quite 
alarmed  till  she  remembered  what  Uncle  Karl 
had  said  about  sweeping-day. 

However,  she  could  not  sleep  any  more,  so 
she  got  up  and  dressed,  and  then  —  leaving  her 
bed  open  to  air  with  window  opened,  though 
blinds  closed  —  she  went  softly  downstairs. 

The  dining-room  was  full  of  furniture,  and, 
the  door  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall  being 
open,  she  thought  she  would  take  a  look  at 
the  parlor.  That  room  was  half  lighted  by 
the  slats  of  the  blinds  being  turned,  and  there 
she  saw  her  aunt  on  her  knees  doing  some- 
thing at  the  edge  of  the  carpet.  Every  bit  of 
furniture  was  out  of  the  room ;  she  knew 
where  it  was,  for  she  had  stumbled  over  it  in 
the  dining-room.  Every  curtain  and  shade 
was  taken  down ;  every  picture  taken  from 
the  wall. 

Wondering  what  her  aunt  was  doing,  Bar- 
bara went  into  the  room  to  say  good-morning, 
and  apologize  for  her  late  appearance. 


70       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

To  her  amazement  her  aunt  was  at  work 
with  a  hairpin  picking  out  the  dust  that  gath- 
ered between  the  edge  of  the  carpet  and  the 
wall,  and  looking  back  of  her,  Barbara  saw  a 
little  row  of  dust-heaps  already  dug  out  and 
waiting,  no  doubt,  for  the  broom. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Betty !  are  you  cleaning 
house?"  she  asked,  looking  around  at  the 
bare  room. 

"  Cleaning  house  !  "  cried  her  aunt  scorn- 
fully; "  No  indeed  !  Do  you  think  I  leave  the 
carpet  down  when  I  clean  house !  I  'm  just 
sweeping  it  as  I  do  every  Friday.  Doesn't 
your  mother  have  her  house  swept  every 
week?" 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  "  said  Barbara ;  "  but  she 
does  n't  have  everything  taken  out." 

"  Well,  /  can't  feel  that  I  get  my  rooms 
clean  unless  I  go  to  the  bottom  of  every- 
thing, "  said  Aunt  Betty,  digging  savagely  at 
the  crack  by  the  edge  of  the  carpet.  "  When  I 
get  around  the  edge  I  shall  go  over  it  with 
the  broom  again." 

"  I  should  think  it  must  be  awful  clean," 
said  Barbara  politely. 


STRENUOUS  HOUSEKEEPING  71 

"  Clean,  child  !  "  said  her  aunt,  jerking  her- 
self along  to  reach  a  new  place  ;  "  clean  !  it  is 
far  enough  from  clean  !  After  I  have  swept  it 
two  or  three  times  I  go  over  every  inch  of  it 
with  a  damp  cloth  and  then  I  don't  get  the 
dirt  all  off.  I  never  feel  with  all  my  work  that 
my  house  is  really  clean.  Did  you  leave  your 
room  shut  up  ? "  she  asked  with  sudden 
thought. 

"  Why  no ! "  said  Barbara,  feeling  very 
guilty.  "  I  left  the  window  open  to  air  the  bed 
—  but  I  did  n't  open  the  blinds,'*  she  added 
hastily,  seeing  a  look  of  horror  on  her  aunt's 
face.  "  Shall  I  run  up  and  close  it  ?  "  she  said 
quickly. 

"Yes,"  said  her  aunt;  "and  you  better 
make  your  bed  while  you  are  there  ;  I  never 
leave  my  beds  open.  I  think  there 's  a  great 
deal  of  nonsense  said  about  airing  beds." 

Barbara  hurried  back  through  the  crowded 
dining-room  and  upstairs,  very  rebellious 
thoughts  stirring  in  her  heart. 

"Aunt's  so  particular  about  a  speck  of 
dust,"  she  thought,  "I  should  think  she'd 


72       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBAKA 

want  fresh  air  in  her  house  too ;  "  and  she 
sighed  as  she  thought  of  her  own  home  with 
every  window  wide  open,  not  only  all  night, 
but  during  the  day,  when  the  weather  would 
allow. 

When  she  reached  the  room  she  was  horri- 
fied to  see  two  or  three  flies  floating  around 
near  the  ceiling  as  if  in  glee  at  really  getting 
into  the  house. 

Hastily  closing  the  door,  Barbara  began  a 
vigorous  war  on  the  intruders  with  a  towel, 
and  not  tilt  she  had  seen  the  last  one  escape 
through  the  blinds  did  she  close  the  window 
and  turn  her  attention  to  the  bed. 

Now  Barbara  had  never  made  a  bed  in  her 
life.  Having  always  been  in  school,  with 
studies  and  piano  practice  at  home,  and  no 
long  summer  vacations,  such  as  schoolchil- 
dren have  now-a-days,  her  mother  had  thought 
best  for  her  to  be  out  of  doors  all  the  time 
she  had  to  spare. 

She  now  looked  in  dismay  at  the  tumbled 
bedclothes,  and  wondered  if  she  could  ever 
get  them  straight.  A  long  time  she  struggled, 


STRENUOUS   HOUSEKEEPING  73 

but  she  could  not  make  the  bed  look  as  it 
should;  it  seemed  as  if  every  blanket  and 
sheet  had  a  will  of  its  own,  and  a  few  tears 
and  many  rebellious  thoughts  went  to  the 
making  of  it. 

At  last  when  it  was  in  tolerable  order  she 
hurried  downstairs,  and  as  she  passed  the 
parlor  she  saw  her  aunt  on  her  knees  with  a 
pail  of  water  and  a  cloth,  going  over  the  car- 
pet as  she  had  said. 

"  0  dear ! "  thought  Barbara,  "  I  can  never 
please  Aunt  Betty  !  I  wish  I  was  home  ! " 

With  these  thoughts  she  entered  the  studio 
where  Uncle  Karl  was  busily  engaged  at  his 
easel. 

"  Why,  girlie,"  he  said,  "  what 's  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  More  tears  came  at  his  kind  tone. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  I  want  to  go  home  !  I 
never  can  please  Aunt  Betty  —  I  can't  —  I 
can't !  "  and  sobs  interrupted  her. 

"Now,  girlie,"  he  said,  putting  away  his 
brushes  and  drawing  her  on  to  his  knee,  "  you 
must  n't  take  things  so  hard ;  your  aunt,  as 
I  told  you,  is  a  wonderful  housekeeper ;  but 


74       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

she  is  kind-hearted,  and  she  won't  be  hard  on 
you.  She  may  want  to  teach  you  some  of  her 
ways,  but  you  won't  mind  that ;  it 's  good  to 
be  a  nice  housekeeper  —  if  it  is  n't  carried 
too  far,"  he  added  somewhat  ruefully.  "  But 
I  '11  tell  you  "  -  brightening  up  —  "  you  're 
going  to  live  out  here  with  me,  you  know. 
See  what  a  breakfast  I  have  for  you  !  "  and  he 
pointed  to  her  little  table,  where,  sure  enough, 
a  plentiful  breakfast  was  spread  out. 

Barbara  was  hungry  after  her  bed-making 
labors,  and  comforted,  as  she  always  was  in  her 
troubles,  by  dear  Uncle  Karl,  she  soon  forgot 
her  sorrow  in  eating  her  breakfast. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  the  dishes?"  she 
asked  when  she  had  finished. 

"Put  them  on  the  tray,"  said  Uncle  Karl, 
"and  take  them  to  the  kitchen;  go  to  the 
back  door,  you  know,  and  Mary  will  take  them. 
You  '11  find  Mary  very  nice,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
told  her  about  you." 

Barbara  did  as  she  was  bid;  she  found 
Mary  busily  engaged  in  preparing  the  cur- 
rants for  the  grand  jelly-making,  which  was 


STRENUOUS   HOUSEKEEPING  75 

to  take  place  that  afternoon.  The  kitchen  was 
as  neat  as  any  one's  parlor,  and  Mary,  with 
her  white  apron  and  smiling  face,  was  as  neat 
as  the  room. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble, 
when  your  breakfast  dishes  are  all  washed," 
said  Barbara,  as  she  set  the  tray  on  the  table. 
u  I  won't  be  so  lazy  again." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  !  "  said  Mary  good-na- 
turedly. "  I  '11  get  them  out  of  the  way  in  a 
jiffy,"  and  she  put  aside  the  work  she  was 
doing  and  turned  her  attention  to  the  tray. 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you,"  said  Barbara 
timidly,  "  but  I  'm  afraid  I  could  n't  do  it  well 
enough  to  suit  Aunt  Betty." 

"  Your  aunt  is  particular,"  said  Mary,  "  but 
I  've  lived  with  her  five  years  and  learned  her 
ways,  so 't  we  get  along  first-rate.  She  had 
about  forty-'leven  girls  the  year  before  I  came 
to  her,  and  none  of  them  suited  her ; "  and 
Mary  laughed  softly  at  the  recollection.  "  And 
even  I,  after  five  years'  training,  "  she  went 
on,  "even  I  can't  sweep  the  parlor  to  suit 
her ;  she  has  to  do  that  all  herself ;  I  can  take 


76       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

out  the  things  and  put  them  back,  but  I  can't 
clean  it." 

"  I  tried  to  make  up  my  bed,"  said  Barbara, 
encouraged  by  Mary's  friendly  manner,  "  but 
it  looks  awful — I  never  made  one  before." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary  kindly,  "  I  '11  just  slip 
up,  soon  's  I  get  these  things  put  away,  and 
straighten  it  out  a  little,  and  if  you  want,  I  '11 
show  you  how  to  do  it  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  thank  you ! "  said  Barbara  gratefully, 
"  I  shall  be  glad  to  learn." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  GLAUS 

"  BARBAKA,"  said  her  aunt,  the  morning  before 
Christmas,  "  will  you  go  down  to  Mrs.  Brown's 
and  ask  her  if  she  can  help  me  to-morrow  ?  " 

Barbara  consented,  of  course,  and  was  soon 
on  her  way.  It  was  a  glorious  morning,  and 
she  walked  between  high  walls  of  snow  each 
side.  Six  feet  deep  it  lay  all  over  that  part  of 
the  country,  and  the  walks  had  been  cut  out. 

Mrs.  Brown's  little  house,  hardly  more 
than  a  shanty,  was  not  far  off,  down  a  side 
street,  and  she  soon  reached  it.  Mrs.  Brown 
went  out  to  days'  work,  and  she  was  not  at 
home  that  morning,  but  Maggie  was  there. 

Maggie  was  Mrs.  Brown's  daughter,  about 
Barbara's  age,  and  an  invalid,  not  able  to  walk 
at  present,  though  the  good  doctor  hoped  she 
would  be  better  in  the  spring. 

Cheerless  enough  was  the  room,  though 
clean  as  constant  scrubbing  could  make  it. 


78       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  rickety  old  stove, 
and  the  sick  girl  was  bundled  up  in  all  the 
blankets  and  quilts  the  house  held  that  she 
might  not  suffer,  for  wood  was  too  costly  to  be 
used  through  the  day.  When  the  children 
came  home  from  school  and  the  mother  from 
her  work  they  had  to  have  a  little  fire. 

But  Maggie's  eyes  were  brilliant,  and  a 
smile  of  perfect  happiness  made  her  plain 
little  face  almost  lovely. 

Barbara  was  startled  by  her  look,  and  after 
delivering  her  errand,  and  finding  she  must 
wait  till  Mrs.  Brown  came  home,  she  ex- 
claimed, — 

"  Why  Maggie  !  how  bright  you  look  ? 
what 's  happened  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Maggie  warmly,  "I  've had  such 
wonderful  Christmas  presents!  such  beautiful, 
beautiful  pictures  !  I  don't  believe  any  one  in 
the  world  has  had  such  wonderful  pictures! " 

"  Pictures  ?  "  said  Barbara,  looking  around 
on  the  poor  bare  walls,  "  where  are  they  ?  " 

"  Look  !  "  cried  Maggie  joyously,  pointing 
to  the  only  window  in  the  room. 


JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  CLAUS    79 

Barbara  looked  and  saw  only  a  bare,  bleak- 
looking  window,  every  pane  of  whicb  was  cov- 
ered with  frost-work. 

"  I  don't  see  any  pictures,"  she  said  rather 
crossly,  for  she  thought  Maggie  was  fooling 
her. 

"  Oh,  don't  you !  "  said  Maggie.  "  Look  at 
that  one,  at  the  bottom,  next  the  door;  don't 
you  see  the  great  mountains  covered  with 
trees,  all  full  of  birds,  and  beautiful  clouds 
blowing  over  them  ?  And  see  that  lot  of  chil- 
dren climbing  up  the  steep  rocks,  every  one 
with  a  tall  stick,  and  flowers  in  their  hair,  and 
long  white  gowns  on.  They  're  going  to  the 
top  to  see  the  world  over  the  other  side,  and 
they  're  singing  as  they  go !  How  happy  they 
look!  Oh,  it's  wonderful!" 

Barbara  looked,  and  could  see  how  the  fan- 
tastic frost-work  could  be  made  to  look  as 
Maggie  saw  it. 

"And  the  next  one,"  went  on  Maggie,  rap- 
turously. "  See  that  garden  full  of  sweet 
flowers  and  vines,  almost  hiding  the  little 
arbor ;  and  the  beautiful  trees  where  the  birds 


80       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

are  singing,  I  know.  And  see  that  little  girl 
not  so  big  as  me,  with  a  little  silver  rake, 
raking  up  the  weeds.  Is  n't  she  lovely,  with 
her  white  shining  frock  and  white  slippers? 
How  happy  she  must  be !  And  then  that 
pretty  Christmas  tree  in  the  next,  all  hung  full 
of  lovely  things,  and  the  children  dancing 
around  it ;  and  see  that  little  doggie  down  in 
the  corner  dancing  about  with  the  rest — ain't 
he  cute?  And  see  the  children  all  in  white, 
with  their  arms  all  full  of  books  and  things. 
And  do  you  see  their  mamma  —  a  beautiful 
woman  off  in  the  corner  in  her  rocking-chair? 
Ah  !  "  with  a  sigh  of  bliss,  "  how  happy  they 
are!" 

•  Barbara,  who  at  first  thought  Maggie  had 
gone  crazy,  really  began  to  see  the  things  de- 
scribed, for  the  window  was  indeed  a  wonder- 
ful example  of  fantastic  frost-work,  and  a  vivid 
imagination  could  see  almost  anything. 

"  And  look  at  the  next  one,  on  top ;  see 
that  beautiful  lake  so  still  and  shining,  and 
the  great  hills  all  around  it,  and  the  moon 
just  coming  over  the  hills.  And  see !  in  the 


JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  CLAUS        81 

far  corner  a  little  boat  with  silver  sail  and  a 
girl  lying  asleep  all  covered  up  with  flowers, 
so  sweet  she  looks  —  see  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Barbara,  fired  with  Mag- 
gie's enthusiasm,  in  spite  of  herself. 

"And  the  boat  is  slowly  moving,"  went 
on  Maggie,  "and  it  '11  come  to  the  shore  where 
other  girls  will  meet  her.  The  next  picture  is 
the  best  of  all,"  went  on  Maggie,  almost  sol- 
emnly, her  voice  becoming  soft  and  low  — 
almost  with  a  sort  of  awe.  "It's  the  woods 
—  all  trees,  wonderful,  wonderful  trees,  with 
mossy  old  trunks  and  dear  little  flowers  around 
their  feet.  I  love  that  one  best  of  all ;  see  the 
darling  little  brook  running  over  the  stones 
and  sparkling  in  the  sunshine  !  Oh  !  is  n't  it 
lovely  !  I  can  almost  hear  the  birds  singing. 
Oh !  "  sighed  Maggie,  with  accent  of  almost 
greater  bliss  than  she  could  bear.  "  Oh  !  what 
a  beautiful  world  it  is !  Oh  !  I  am  so  happy  !" 
and  she  closed  her  eyes  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy. 

Barbara  looked  around  the  poverty-stricken 
room,  —  cold,  dark,  dismal  enough,  —  and 
that  happy  face  on  the  pillow  she  could  not 


82       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

understand.  After  a  moment  she  asked,  in  a 
low  voice,  "Maggie,  can  I  do  anything  for 
you?  Shall  I  make  a  fire?" 

Maggie  opened  her  eyes,  a  sweet  smile  on 
her  face.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  wood  is  so  dear 
mother  can't  afford  a  fire  all  day,  and  I  'm 
warm  enough.  I've  been  making  Christmas 
presents  for  the  children,"  she  went  on ; 
"would  you  like  to  see  them?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Barbara,  wondering  what 
they  could  be. 

"  Well,  here  they  are,"  said  Maggie,  draw- 
ing a  dingy  pasteboard  box  from  under  the 
bed  covering.  She  opened  it  and  displayed 
with  sparkling  eyes  to  the  amazed  Barbara 
several  things  made  out  of  paper.  "  There 's 
a  doll  for  Susy,"  she  said,  holding  up  a  paper 
doll  dressed  in  clothes  cut  from  a  piece  of 
brown  wrapping  paper,  with  features  made 
with  a  lead  pencil.  "  See,  she  has  a  hat,  and  her 
frock  takes  off.  Susy  's  awful  fond  of  dolls. 
And  this,"  she  went  on,  carefully  lifting  it 
out  of  the  box,  "  is  a  dog  drawing  a  sled. 
That 's  for  Johnny,  he  loves  dogs  so." 


JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  CLAUS   83 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  cut  out  dogs  ?  " 
asked  Barbara,  —  for  it  was  really  quite  a 
creditable  dog,  of  the  brown  paper,  with  har- 
ness and  sled  of  white  paper. 

"  Why,  I  found  a  picture  in  a  book  and 
cut  it  as  near  like  that  as  I  could.  I  know 
Johnny '11  like  it." 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  Barbara. 

"  I  tried  to  think  of  something  I  could 
make  for  mother,"  said  Maggie  rather  wist- 
fully, "  but  I  could  n't  think  of  anything. 
Can  you  think  of  anything  I  could  make?  " 
she  added. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Oh,  here  's  another  thing!  "  said  Maggie, 
holding  up  a  ring  of  dancing  girls,  cut  out  of 
the  same  brown  paper.  "  See,  they  '11  stand  up ! 
Susy  '11  like  that.  And  for  Johnny  I  made  a 
ball,"  and  she  drew  out  her  last  treasure,  —  a 
ball  of  strips  of  paper  wound  tightly  and  held 
by  string  wound  closely  around  it  everyway. 

Barbara  went  home  very  slowly,  a  happy 
thought  struggling  for  expression,  —  a  plan  of 
what  she  might  do  to  brighten  that  dull  little 


84       WHAT   HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

room ;  and  it  was  a  very  eager  Barbara  who  at 
last  took  Uncle  Karl  into  her  counsels. 

"  Uncle  Karl,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  such  a 
dismal  place  you  never  saw !  cold  and  dark 
and  horrid,  and  such  poor  little  things  for 
presents !  and  that  girl  so  happy !  Why,  she 
told  wonderful  stories  about  the  frost  on  the 
windowpanes ;  she  saw  so  many  things  in  them 
and  called  them  her  Christmas  presents — her 
pictures.  I  never  heard  any  one  talk  so ;  I 
thought  at  first  she  was  crazy,  but  after  a 
while  she  made  me  see  them  too." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "  of  a 
piece  I  used  to  speak  in  school  about  Jack 
Frost.  I  can  remember  only  one  verse,"  and 
throwing  himself  into  schoolboy  attitude  he 
began : — 

"  He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who  slept, 
And  over  each  pane  like  a  fairy  crept: 
Wherever  he  breathed,  wherever  he  stepped, 

By  the  light  of  the  moon  were  seen 
Most  beautiful  things:  there  were  flowers  and  trees; 
There  were  bevies  of  birds  and  swarms  of  bees ; 
There  were  cities  with  temples  and  towers,  and  these 

All  pictured  in  silver  sheen." 


JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  GLAUS    85 

"  Oh !  that 's  lovely ! "  cried  Barbara,  "  Can't 
you  remember  the  rest  ?  I  'd  like  to  learn  it 
and  say  it  to  Maggie.  I  'm  sure  she  'd  like  it." 

Uncle  Karl  studied  very  hard  a  few  minutes, 
but  he  could  n't  think  of  another  word.  At  last 
he  said,  "  Perhaps  it  '11  come  to  me  sometime, 
and  if  it  does  I  '11  remember  it  for  you.  That 
must  be  the  girl  —  that  Maggie — that  some- 
times came  with  her  mother  to  work,  and  I 
found  her  several  times  standing  in  the  studio 
door  looking  at  the  pictures  as  if  she  would 
devour  them.  She  must  have  a  great  deal  of 
fine  feeling." 

"I  'm  sure  she  has,"  said  Barbara  enthusias- 
tically, "and  I'm  going  to  give  her  some  of 
my  books." 

"  Ask  your  Aunt  Betty,"  said  Uncle  Karl. 
"  She  '11  surely  help  ;  and  I  '11  find  something 
- —  I  '11  tell  you,  girlie,"  suddenly,  "  I  have  a 
big  woodpile,  more  than  enough  for  the  win- 
ter for  us,  and  I  '11  get  Tom  Bruce  to  take  a 
load  over  to  them." 

"Oh!  that'll  be  splendid!"  said  Barbara, 
"  Maggie  said  her  mother  could  n't  afford  to 


86       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

have  a  fire  all  day  when  she  was  alone ;  so  she 
was  bundled  up  in  all  the  bedclothes  in  the 
house,  I  guess." 

Barbara  rushed  eagerly  into  the  house, 
where  she  found  Aunt  Betty  in  the  kitchen 
with  Mary,  both  very  busy  with  Christmas 
doings. 

She  told  the  story  of  Maggie  and  her  poor 
little  presents,  and  Aunt  Betty  was  interested 
and  said  she  would  send  something,  and  Mary's 
warm  heart  was  touched,  and  she  began  to 
plan  what  she  could  do. 

The  next  morning  Barbara  brought  out  sev- 
eral books,  and  a  warm  dressing-gown  she  had 
worn  when  she  was  ill,  but  was  sure  her  mother 
would  let  her  give  to  Maggie  ;  and  Aunt  Betty 
went  into  her  pantry  and  prepared  a  basket 
filled  with  a  regular  Christmas  dinner :  a  roast 
chicken  with  proper  accompaniments,  a  suet 
pudding,  and  the  sweets  that  children  love  — 
cakes,  cookies,  jam,  raisins,  and  nuts ;  such  a 
Christmas  dinner  as  the  Brown  children  had 

never  seen. 

+ 

Last  of  all,  Barbara  thrust  into  the  loaded 


JACK  FROST  AS  SANTA  CLAUS   87 

basket  a  box  of  candy  —  one  of  her  own  pre- 
sents which  had  come  by  mail  that  day;  and 
when  her  aunt  looked  surprised  at  this  gift 
from  the  candy-lover,  she  said,  — 

"  You  know,  aunt,  I  had  two  boxes,  and  I 
don't  believe  Maggie  ever  had  one." 

And  when  that  morning  the  grocer  brought 
some  things  to  the  house  and  saw  what  was 
going  on,  he  went  quietly  back  to  the  store 
and  packed  a  barrel  full  of  vegetables,  —  tur- 
nips, onions,  cabbages,  and  potatoes,  with  a 
goodly  sprinkling  of  apples. 

And  after  that  he  told  the  story  to  the  group 
of  men  who  always  hang  around  a  country 
store,  and  one  kind-hearted  old  man  who  had 
known  hard  times  in  his  life  told  the  store- 
keeper to  send  a  bag  of  flour  and  charge  to 
his  account;  and  when  he  went  home  and 
told  his  wife,  she  brought  out  of  her  clothes- 
press  a  comfortable  woolen  dress  for  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  another  neighbor  hunted  up  a 
warm  cloak  that  her  daughter  had  outgrown, 
for  Maggie  when  she  was  better. 

In  fact,  that  happy  thought  of  Barbara's 


88       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

spread  so  fast  and  so  far  that  the  Brown  fam- 
ily had  the  most  wonderful  Christmas  they 
had  ever  known. 

After  that  Barbara  went  often  to  see  Mag- 
gie and  help  her  pass  the  weary  hours,  and  she 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  the  warmth, 
and  the  more  abundant  food,  and  the  happi- 
ness that  Maggie  felt,  all  together  helped  her 
to  get  well  very  fast,  so  that  in  a  few  weeks 
she  could  sit  up,  wrapped  in  Barbara's  warm 
wrapper,  and  before  summer  was  able  to  come 
up  to  the  studio  and  return  some  of  Barbara's 
visits. 


CHAPTER  IX 

STICKY  TIMES  IN  THE  STUDIO 

ONE  morning  some  weeks  later,  after  Barbara 
had  made  her  bed  and  put  her  room  in  order, 
—  which  now,  thanks  to  Mary's  help,  she  could 
do  very  nicely,  —  she  hastened  as  usual  to  the 
studio,  where  she  was  surprised  to  see  a  visitor. 
A  young  lady  was  talking  volubly  to  Uncle 
Karl,  who  looked  a  little  disturbed. 

"  And  I  'm  sure  it  won't  be  much  trouble, 
Mr.  Burton,"  she  said  glibly,  "  or  I  would  n't 
think  of  asking  you,  for  I  know  you  are  so 
busy." 

"  How  many  figures  did  you  say  ?  "  asked 
the  artist,  pausing  with  brush  in  hand. 

"  Only  eight ;  and  they  may  be  as  rough  as 
you  please,"  the  lady  hastened  to  say.  "It 
won't  take  you  long  to  dash  off  one,  will 
it?" 

"  N-o,"  said  the  artist,  hesitating,  "  the 
mere  painting  won't  be  much." 


90      WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Oh,  we  '11  prepare  the  canvas  and  all  that," 
interrupted  the  eager  lady. 

Uncle  Karl  hesitated ;  he  was  extremely  busy; 
he  felt  that  he  could  n't  spare  the  time,  yet  on 
the  other  hand,  it  was  for  a  Sunday-school 
entertainment.  He  might  do  it  in  the  evening, 
and  —  in  a  word,  he  was  too  good-natured  to 
refuse. 

His  guest  was  quick  to  see  yielding  in  his 
face. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  !  I  know  you  've  decided 
to  help  us  out !  Thank  you  so  much !  I  '11 
send  the  canvases  over  right  away ;  "  which 
she  did. 

"  Humph  !  no  trouble !  "  said  Uncle  Karl 
softly,  when  he  saw  the  eight  full-length  can- 
vases brought  into  the  studio,  with  a  frame  on 
which  each  one  was  to  be  stretched  for  painting. 
"  I  only  wish  I  may  get  through  in  a  week  ! " 

"  Now  Barbara,"  he  went  o»,  after  a  few 
moments,  "  you  can  help  me  a  little  in  this, 
for  I  shall  paint  these  figures  in  distemper." 

"  Distemper !  "  exclaimed  Barbara.  "  What 's 
that?" 


STICKY  TIMES  IN  THE  STUDIO       91 

"  Why,  you  know,"  said  Uncle  Karl  mildly, 
"  I  shall  not  waste  oil  paints  on  these  things 
to  be  used  only  an  hour  or  two ;  I  shall  get 
dry  paints  and  mix  them  with  weak  glue. 
You  can  prepare  the  glue  and  mix  the  colors." 

Barbara  was  delighted  to  do  something  for 
her  dear  uncle  who  was  always  doing  so  much 
for  her,  and  listened  eagerly  as  he  went  on. 

"  I  shall  need  nine  colors,"  he  said,  after  a 
few  moments'  thought,  "  and  therefore  nine 
dishes  of  some  sort  to  mix  in.  Mary  will 
give  you  these ;  any  old  cans  will  do.  You 
will  have  to  dissolve  the  glue  and  stir  each 
color  into  it." 

Barbara  consented  eagerly,  and  hurried  off 
to  Mary  for  the  dishes. 

Well,  a  pound  of  glue  was  bought  and  put 
into  a  pan  of  water  on  the  studio  stove  to 
dissolve.  When  this  was  done,  Barbara  —  who 
was  eager  to  do  it  all  herself  —  told  Uncle 
Karl  that  she  knew  how  to  make  glue,  and 
he  could  go  back  to  his  work.  With  a  sigh  of 
relief  he  did  so,  and  Barbara  set  herself  to 
watch  matters  in  the  pan. 


92       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

When  the  glue  was  reduced  to  liquid  form, 
Barbara  filled  one  of  the  cans  half  full  of  the 
evil-smelling  stuff  and  began  work  on  the  first 
color  her  uncle  had  placed  ready  for  her. 
This  was  labeled  "  Lampblack." 

She  poured  some  of  the  dry  powder  into 
the  glue  and  began  to  stir ;  the  first  dash  sent 
a  cloud  of  the  lampblack  in  a  great  puff  over 
her  dress  and  the  floor  around. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  but  softly,  not  to  disturb 
Uncle  Karl;  and  laying  down  the  paper  of 
lampblack,  she  hurried  to  the  washing  basin 
behind  a  screen  at  the  back  of  the  studio,  to 
brush  her  dress  and  wash  her  hands.  But 
lampblack  is  peculiarly  greasy,  and  glue  is 
sticky,  and  she  did  not  succeed  in  getting  very 
clean,  while  all  attempts  to  brush  it  off  her 
dress  ended  in  smearing  it  over  the  whole 
front. 

"Well,"  she  said  to  herself  at  last,  "this 
dress  is  spoiled,  and  I  may  as  well  keep  it  to 
use  all  through ; "  and  she  returned  to  the 
making  of  distemper. 

Now  she  worked  more  carefully,  but  in  spite 


STICKY   TIMES  IN  THE  STUDIO        93 

of  her  greatest  efforts  the  lampblack  would 
continue  to  mix  with  the  air,  and  not  by  any 
coaxing  with  the  glue.  When  Uncle  Karl 
chanced  to  look  up  and  saw  the  concern  on 
Barbara's  face,  and  noticed  the  fine  coating  of 
lampblack  over  everything  around,  he  came 
hastily  over  to  examine. 

Barbara  was  a  sight,  and  everything  in 
her  vicinity  was  also ;  and  almost  choking  in 
generous  efforts  to  keep  from  laughing  at 
her,  he  told  her  to  leave  the  lampblack,  go 
to  the  kitchen  for  Mary's  help  in  getting  it 
off  her  face  and  hands,  and  then  go  to  work 
on  the  other  colors. 

After  as  thorough  a  scrubbing  as  soap  and 
water  could  furnish,  Barbara  returned,  still 
wearing  the  soiled  dress,  ready  to  try  again. 

Of  course  no  one — at  least,  no  young  girl 
—  ever  handled  glue  without  getting  herself 
more  or  less  daubed.  First  Barbara  got  her 
hands  sticky,  and  then  getting  excited  and 
warm,  everything  she  touched  was  daubed; 
gradually  her  eyebrows,  her  forehead,  her 
very  lips  were  gluey;  her  loose  hair  glued 


94       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

fast  to  her  forehead  —  her  eyelashes  sticking 
to  her  cheeks  when  she  winked.  Several  times 
during  that  morning  she  slipped  quietly  over 
to  the  kitchen  and  begged  Mary's  help  and 
hot  water  to  soak  herself  out  a  little,  so  that 
she  could  go  on  and  not  trouble  Uncle  Karl, 
and  then  returned  to  her  work. 

With  the  colors  she  had  no  trouble,  and 
eight  beautiful  cans  of  colored  glue  rewarded 
her  efforts. 

The  cans  were  placed  on  a  table  for  use 
that  evening,  and  the  fire  under  the  glue-pot 
put  out. 

"  There ! "  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction, "  that  horrid  job  is  done  !  " 

Was  it? 

"  Now,"  said  Uncle  Karl  after  supper,  draw- 
ing out  the  big  frame  consisting  of  four  sides 
like  a  box  without  top  or  bottom,  with  a  can- 
vas four  feet  by  six  stretched  on  each  of  the 
four  sides,  "  now  for  these  figures  !  " 

He  placed  his  frame  conveniently  near  the 
light,  moved  his  chair  up  before  it,  took  his 
brush,  and  dipped  into  the  first  can.  Alas !  it 


STICKY  TIMES   IN  THE  STUDIO       95 

touched  something  hard;  he  looked  in — it 
was  solid  as  a  rock !  In  turn  he  examined 
each  one — each  was  a'  solid  mass!  the  glue 
was  too  thick. 

He  was  dismayed.  "  Poor  Barbara !  "  was 
his  first  thought,  followed  by  "  Is  n't  it  a  joke 
on  her ! " 

He  then  proceeded  to  arrange  the  joke. 
Carefully  loosening  each  solid  cake  of  glue, 
he  turned  them  out  in  a  row  on  the  table. 
They  made  a  beautiful  show — rocks  of  lovely 
colors,  crimson  lake,  translucent  yellow,  hea- 
venly blue,  and  others.  Then  he  called  Bar- 
bara to  see  them. 

"  Uncle  Karl ! "  she  exclaimed  in  horror; 
and  then  as  the  truth  dawned  upon  her  she 
added,  "  That  glue  was  too  thick !  " 

"  So  it  was,  my  dear ;  you  were  too  gener- 
ous," said  Uncle  Karl,  putting  away  the  bulky 
frame.  "  I  '11  wait  till  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  Barbara  tried  it  again.  Labori- 
ously she  melted  up  part  of  each  lovely  color, 
thinned  it  with  water,  daubing  herself  afresh 
with  glue,  and  again  set  eight  cans  of  dis- 


96       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

temper  on  the  table  for  use,  with  "I  guess 
that's  thin  enough — it's  nothing  but  water." 

Again  came  out  the  big  frame,  and  once 
more  the  brush  was  thrust  in.  Not  far !  the 
contents  were  jelly, — sparkling,  shaking,  rain- 
bow-hued  jelly,  and  not  to  be  handled  by 
a  brush. 

It  was  hardly  a  joke  this  time ;  temper  that 
was  not  distemper  began  to  come  dangerously 
near  the  surface  as  Barbara  surveyed  her 
work;  two  days  wasted  and  glue  all  over 
everything,  was  a  little  too  much  even  for  a 
good-natured  girl  to  bear.  She  had  her  say 
and  then  —  well,  then  she  tried  it  again.  A 
very  small  quantity  of  the  colored  jelly  was 
dissolved  in  quarts  of  water.  Eight  times  this 
operation  was  repeated,  Barbara  getting  more 
dauby  and  more  impatient  every  time. 

But  at  last  it  was  right.  That  evening  a 
very  tired  and  very  much  "  stuck  up  "  Bar- 
bara sat  by  while  Uncle  Karl  with  big  brushes 
painted  life-sized  figures. 

Four  were  partly  done  and  must  be  left  to 
dry  before  they  could  be  finished,  yet  he  had 


STICKY   TIMES  IN  THE  STUDIO       97 

time  to  sketch  in  more.  Barbara,  eager  to 
help  again,  forgot  the  nature  of  glue,  and  her 
own  fingers  stretched  the  fifth  canvas  over  one 
already  painted.  The  fifth  figure  was  sketched, 
and  all  were  left  to  dry. 

The  next  morning  on  returning  to  the 
work  it  was  found  that,  although  thin,  the 
glue  was  good.  The  two  canvases  were  one ; 
no  amount  of  pulling  would  separate  them, 
and  they  finally  went  into  the  bath-tub  to 
soak  apart  at  their  leisure  and  be  painted 
over  again. 

After  four  evenings  of  work  from  Uncle 
Karl,  and  four  days  of  struggle  and  work 
from  Barbara,  the  thing  that  was  to  be  "  very 
little  work "  was  done  and  sent  away.  But 
the  studio  was  a  sight !  lampblack  over  every- 
thing, —  glue  over  everything.  If  one  sat 
quietly  half  an  hour  in  a  chair,  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  out  of  it  without  tearing 
one's  clothes  in  the  effort;  a  book  lying  care- 
lessly on  the  table  was  found  to  be  a  fixture ; 
every  garment  worn  there  was  daubed. 

This  would  never  do ;  and  much  as  he  hated 


98       WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

to  have  his  things  disturbed,  Uncle  Karl  told 
Aunt  Betty  of  the  trouble.  She  at  once  re- 
plied with  glee  that  she  would  attend  to  it, 
for  she  had  tried  in  vain  to  get  a  chance  to 
clean  the  studio,  the  condition  of  which  was 
a  great  trial  to  her. 


CHAPTER  X 

UNCLE  KAKL  AND  BARBARA  RUN  AWAY 

"  TO-MOKROW,"  said  Aunt  Betty,  at  the  supper 
table,  —  "to-morrow  Mary  and  I  are  going 
to  clean  the  studio  ! " 

This  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  Uncle  Karl 
and  Barbara,  who  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
may. 

"  We  should  only  be  in  the  way,  girlie,"  he 
said.  "  Let  's  run  away !  Where  shall  we 
go?" 

"  Why  don't  you  take  Barbara  to  New- 
berry  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Betty.  "  That 's  a  plea- 
sant ride,  and  will  show  some  of  our  coun- 
try." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Uncle  Karl; 
"  and  I  have  a  little  business  there  too ;  I 
want  to  see  Blake  about  something.  Do  you 
like  to  ride,  girlie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barbara  eagerly  ;  "  I  love 
it!" 


100     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Well,  then,  we  '11  go.  And,  by  the  way, 
it  must  be  maple-sugar  time !  We  may  be 
able  to  see  something  of  that." 

After  some  more  talk,  it  was  settled  that 
they  were  to  start  early  the  next  morning, 
and  as  it  was  a  long  way  to  Newberry,  they 
would  stay  all  night  at  Mrs.  Blake's,  and 
come  back  the  next  morning. 

At  this  Barbara  demurred. 

"  But  perhaps  she  can't  keep  us,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Blake  takes  summer  boarders," 
said  Aunt  Betty.  "  She  has  a  houseful  every 
summer  from  St.  Paul,  and  she  's  always  ready 
to  entertain.  It 's  almost  like  a  hotel." 

The  next  morning  before  it  was  very  light 
Barbara  was  called,  and  remembering  that 
this  was  Uncle  Karl's  holiday,  she  jumped  out 
of  bed,  hastily  got  into  her  clothes,  and  ran 
downstairs.  Breakfast  was  smoking  on  the 
table,  and  Uncle  Karl  was  all  ready  to  start. 

"  You  need  n't  stop  to  make  up  your  bed," 
said  Aunt  Betty ;  "  it 's  a  long  ride  to  New- 
berry.  Mary  '11  do  that." 


THE  RUNAWAYS  101 

Before  the  door  stood  a  horse  hitched  to  a 
buckboard.  Barbara  stared  at  the  strange 
vehicle.  It  was  merely  a  long  board  reaching 
from  the  front  to  the  back  wheels,  with  a  seat 
resting  upon  it,  and  no  box. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Karl,"  she  said,  « what  a 
queer  wagon  !  I  never  saw  one  like  it." 

"  It 's  a  buckboard,  my  dear,"  said  Uncle 
Karl,  "  and  very  comfortable  to  ride  in,  as 
you'll  see.  And  isn't  old  Charley  a  nice 
horse  ?  " 

Hearing  his  name,  the  intelligent  beast 
turned  his  head  and  looked  at  them.  Uncle 
Karl  patted  his  nose,  and  looking  at  Barbara 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  said,  "  Have  n't 
you  a  lump  of  sugar  you  could  give  him  ?  " 

"  I  '11  get  one,"  said  Barbara,  running  back 
into  the  house.  She  found  the  kitchen  de- 
serted for  the  moment,  and  hastily  taking  a 
lump  from  the  sugar-bowl,  she  ran  back  and 
offered  it  to  Uncle  Karl. 

"  You  give  it  to  him  yourself,"  said  Uncle 
Karl.  "Don't  offer  it  with  your  fingers,"  he 
said  suddenly,  as  she  was  about  to  hold  it  up 


102     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

to  Charley's  mouth.    "  Open  your  hand  wide 
and  lay  it  in  the  palm ;    then  he  can  get  it 
without  danger  of  taking  a  finger  with  it." 
Barbara  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  Old  Charley 

—  who  was  evidently  used  to  such  attentions 

—  daintily  took  the  sugar  and   munched  it 
with  evident  satisfaction.    Then  Uncle  Karl 
helped  Barbara  up  to  her  seat,  and  they  were 
off. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  February.  The 
snow  which  had  covered  the  ground  all  winter 
was  about  gone ;  the  roads,  which  quickly  dry 
in  that  country,  were  very  good;  and  Charley 
trotted  along  as  if  he  enjoyed  it  as  much  as 
the  two  runaways  did. 

About  noon  they  came  to  a  lane,  up  which 
Uncle  Karl  turned  the  horse. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Uncle  Karl?"  asked 
Barbara. 

"  I  think  we  '11  stop  here  for  dinner ;  it 's 
just  about  their  dinner-time." 

The  fresh  air  had  made  Barbara  hungry, 
and  she  was  glad  when  the  farmer's  wife  — 
who  came  to  the  door  as  they  came  up  —  said 


THE  RUNAWAYS  103 

she  could  give  them  dinner  if  they  would  take 
"  pot-luck  "  with  the  family.  Charley  was  sent 
off  to  the  barn  to  get  his  dinner,  and  Uncle 
Karl  and  Barbara  went  into  the  big  kitchen, 
where  the  farmer's  wife  was  just  taking  up  the 
meal. 

A  long  table  was  set  with  knives  and  forks, 
and  a  big  pile  of  plates  at  one  place  along 
about  the  middle;  and  putting  on  two  more 
knives  and  forks,  she  told  her  guests  to  sit 
down. 

Uncle  Karl  asked  if  they  could  wash  their 
hands  and  faces  first.  She  gave  them  a  clean 
towel  and  told  them  to  go  right  out  to  the  pump. 

Uncle  Karl's  eyes  laughed  as  he  led  the 
astonished  Barbara  out  to  the  back  of  the 
house,  where  they  found  one  of  the  farmer's 
men  already  engaged  in  washing  face  and 
hands  by  the  simple  process  of  giving  the 
pump-handle  a  jerk  which  started  the  water, 
and  then  catching  it  in  his  hands  as  it  fell, 
and  throwing  it  over  face  and  hands. 

Barbara  looked  on  in  horror.  "  I  could  n't 
do  that !  "  she  whispered. 


104     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  You  need  n't,"  said  her  uncle ;  "  you  can 
wet  part  of  this  towel  and  use  that ;  but  you 
see  how  much  trouble  this  way  saves.  Now  I 
like  it !  "  and  he  proceeded  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  man  who  had  finished,  and  threw 
great  handfuls  of  the  clear  cold  water  over 
face  and  head. 

Their  toilets  thus  made,  the  two  went  back 
to  the  kitchen,  where  the  family  were  already 
seated. 

"  Set  right  up,"  said  the  farmer's  wife. 

The  farmer,  at  whose  place  stood  the  pile 
of  plates,  was  serving  the  dinner  from  a 
huge  pan — a  dish-pan  it  looked  like.  Barbara 
looked  on  in  surprise  as  he  took  from  this 
smoking  receptacle  great  chunks  of  meat, 
potatoes,  turnips,  beets,  and  parsnips,  filling 
up  each  plate  with  a  pile  of  these  things  and 
then  passing  it  along.  Everything  was  in  that 
pan,  excepting  the  salt  and  the  butter,  and 
an  enormous  platter  of  what  looked  like  small 
loaves  of  bread. 

When  a  plate,  generously  filled  from  the 
pan,  was  placed  before  Barbara,  she  looked  at 


THE  RUNAWAYS  105 

it  in  dismay,  and  Uncle  Karl,  taking  the  platter 
of  loaves,  offered  it  to  her,  saying  with  roguish 
looks,  "  Have  a  biscuit,  Barbara  ?  " 

"Biscuit!"  gasped  Barbara;  then  recover- 
ing herself,  "  I  'd  like  part  of  one,  Uncle 
Karl." 

Barbara  was  hungry,  as  I  said;  so  taking 
up  her  funny  two-tined  fork,  which  looked 
like  a  pitchfork,  she  began  picking  bits  off 
the  great  mound  of  provisions  before  her.  It 
tasted  better  than  she  had  feared,  and  she  had 
no  trouble  in  making  a  good  dinner  without 
half  emptying  her  plate,  and  then  she  enjoyed 
looking  about  to  see  the  rest  eat.  Every  one 
emptied  his  plate,  and  one  or  two  passed  theirs 
back  for  more. 

When  the  farmer's  wife  saw  that  Barbara 
had  eaten  all  she  wanted,  and  the  pan  was 
nearly  empty,  she  got  up  and  brought  a  plate 
of  pie,  and  shoving  back  the  dish  of  meat 
and  vegetables,  set  it  before  her.  There  were 
two  huge  pieces,  —  mince  and  pumpkin,  — 
with  a  big  piece  of  cake  on  top  and  a  great 
slice  of  cheese  on  that. 


106     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Barbara  looked  so  astonished  that  Uncle 
Karl  almost  choked  trying  to  keep  from  laugh- 
ing. But  as  she  began  to  look  about  for  a 
fork  to  attack  this  mountain  of  food,  he  whis- 
pered, "  Take  your  fork  from  the  other  plate." 

With  this  overworked  implement  Barbara 
timidly  set  to  work  on  the  pie,  first  laying  off 
the  cheese  and  cake.  She  found  it  very  hard, 
however,  to  manage  pieces  of  the  pumpkin  pie 
—  which  she  liked  best  —  with  that  awkward 
tool.  Again  her  uncle  whispered,  "  Do  as  the 
rest  do." 

She  glanced  around ;  every  one  was  rapidly 
disposing  of  the  pile  of  pie,  by  shoveling  great 
pieces  into  his  mouth  with  his  knife. 

Barbara  was  horrified ;  but  looking  at  Uncle 
Karl  she  found  him  doing  the  same,  though 
with  twitching  lips  that  showed  how  hard  it 
was  to  keep  from  laughing.  She  really  wanted 
the  pie ;  so  she  struggled  with  this  new  way  of 
eating  till  she  became  rather  expert  at  it,  and 
managed  to  finish  the  piece  of  pumpkin  pie, 
only  dropping  about  half  a  dozen  pieces,  and 
leaving  the  rest. 


THE  RUNAWAYS  107 

"  Don't  you  feel  well,  miss  ?  "  asked  the 
farmer,  as  she  shoved  back  from  the  table. 

"  You  don't  eat  anything ;  I  'm  afraid  you 
won't  make  out  a  dinner,"  said  his  wife,  with 
anxiety. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  "  said  Barbara  eagerly. 
"  I  've  eaten  a  lot !  it 's  very  nice." 

"  Well,  girlie,  "  said  Uncle  Karl,  when  they 
were  well  on  their  way  again,  and  they  had 
enjoyed  a  hearty  laugh,  "  you  've  learned 
something  to-day.  Shall  you  show  off  your 
new  table  manners  with  Aunt  Betty?" 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  her,  Uncle  Karl,"  said  Bar- 
bara earnestly ;  "  she  would  be  shocked  !  " 

Uncle  Karl  laughed  loud  and  long.  (( She 
would,  indeed.  I  took  her  there  once  — " 
laughing  again  at  the  recollection ;  "  she  was 
hungry  when  we  stopped,  but  she  could  n't  eat 
a  mouthful ;  she  pleaded  a  sudden  headache, 
and  went  and  sat  on  the  steps  till  I  came  out. 
She  said  it  made  her  sick  !  she  was  n't  used  to 
eating  out  of  a  trough  ;  "  and  again  Uncle  Karl 
laughed  and  Barbara  with  him,  till  the  woods 
rang. 


CHAPTER   XI 

DROLL  MRS.  BLAKE 

IT  was  nearly  dark,  after  what  Uncle  Karl 
always  called  their  "  dishpan  dinner,"  when 
they  reached  the  suburbs  of  the  village  of 
Newberry  and  drove  into  the  yard  and  up  to 
the  side  door  of  Mrs.  Blake's  house. 

It  was  a  wide-spreading,  old-fashioned  build- 
ing, with  a  big  yard.  Under  the  trees  in  front 
were  three  groups  of  chairs ;  queer  home-made 
things  of  boards,  painted  bright  red  and  yel- 
low and  blue,  one  of  each  color  in  each  group. 

"  Oh,  look  at  those  funny  chairs ! "  cried 
Barbara,  laughing.  "  What  are  they  for  ?  " 

"  They  're  for  the  boarders  to  sit  on,"  said 
Uncle  Karl,  "  and  they  're  supposed  to  be  very 
stylish,  like  the  rustic  seats  the  story-books 
tell  about.  You  mustn't  laugh  at  them  be- 
fore Mrs.  Blake.  She  thinks  they  give  her 
house  an  air,  and  they  certainly  do ! "  he 
added,  with  laughing  eyes,  though  a  very 


DROLL  MRS.   BLAKE  109 

sober  mouth,  as  Mrs.  Blake's  jolly  face  ap- 
peared at  the  door  with  a  hearty  greeting. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Burton  !  is  it  really  you  ?  And 
•who  is  this  young  lady  you  have  brought  to 
see  me  ?  Get  right  out ;  I  'm  proper  glad  to 
see  you,"  she  went  on,  without  waiting  for 
answers. 

"  Now  what  would  you  like  for  supper  ?  " 
she  asked,  after  Uncle  Karl  had  gone  to  the 
barn  to  see  that  Charley  was  made  comfortable. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  said  Barbara.  "  You 
know  best,  Mrs.  Blake." 

Mrs.  Blake  considered  a  moment ;  then, 
"How  about  cream  short-cake?  " 

"  I  never  tasted  that,"  said  Barbara ;  "  but 
it  sounds  good." 

Mrs.  Blake  laughed.  "  Well,  it  eats  good 
too,  'n'  I  '11  make  you  one ;  I  know  you  '11  like 
it ;  all  young  folks  do,  —  not  to  mention  old 
folks,  specially  women ;  it 's  a  sort  o'  woman 
dish.  You  know  men  and  women  have  differ- 
ent likings." 

"  Have  they  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  I  've  kept  summer  boarders 


110     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

a  good  many  years,  'n'  I  've  learned  a  thing  or 
two.  Now  men  V  great  on  meat  pies.  A  meat 
pie  's  a  real  handy  thing  to  have  when  there 's 
a  passel  o'  men  around ;  they  mostly  likes  'em ; 
they  're  mighty  tasty,  too  ;  now  Blake  's  the 
fondest  man  of  a  meat  pie  ever  I  see;  I'd 
make  one  for  your  uncle  if  there  was  time." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl  likes  most  anything  ! " 
said  Barbara.  "  He 's  the  easiest  to  please  of 
any  one  I  know." 

"  Humph !  he 's  different  from  summer 
boarders  then !  "  said  Mrs.  Blake.  "  Summer 
boarders  are  the  beater  and  all  for  eating ! " 

Mrs.  Blake  had  started  up  to  get  tea,  but 
summer  boarders  was  plainly  a  burning  sub- 
ject with  her,  for  she  went  on  pouring  out  her 
views,  still  standing  ready  to  move. 

"  City  folks  Y  such  ones  to  eat !  I  b'lieve 
they  starve  to  home  !  It 's  nothin'  for  them  to 
eat  three  pieces  o'  pie  an'  make  whole  supper 
o'  cake,  'specially  one  kind  o'  mine,  't  has 
fruit  in  it  'n'  is  very  rich ;  eat  three  'r  four 
pieces  —  cut  big,  too  !  'n'  all  the  time  sayin' 
they  never  eats  cake  to  home !  I  guess  not,  — 


DROLL  MRS.   BLAKE  111 

nor  anything  else,  —  thinks  me !  One  man  and 
wife  't  I  had  would  eat  three  strawberry  short- 
cakes size  of  small  platters ;  'n  the  way  they  'd 
guzzle  the  cream,  my  sakes !  My  cows  Y  as 
good  as  ever  a  pail  set  under,  but  they  don't 
give  cream  !  an'  besides  stuffin'  at  table,  the 
loads  they  'd  carry  off !  Why !  I  could  n't 
have  oranges  or  bananas  or  peaches  on  the 
table,  for  they  'd  all  be  carried  off  to  the 
rooms  to  eat  between  meals." 

Mrs.  Blake  paused  an  instant,  and  Barbara 
had  a  chance  to  get  in  a  word. 

"  They  could  n't  have  been  very  nice 
people!  " 

"  They  called  themselves  the  top  notch," 
said  Mrs.  Blake.  "I  had  one  little  boy  here — 
sweet  little  feller  he  was!  so  pretty-spoken, 
an'  allus  wantin'  to  do  somethin'  to  help.  He 
liked  to  carry  a  drink  to  the  men  in  the  field, 
an'  when  they  was  diggin'  potatoes  he  liked 
to  go  an'  pick  up ;  but  good  gracious  me  ! 
was  n't  his  ma  mad  !  One  day  she  shut  him 
up  all  day  just  'cause  he  asked  me  to  let 
him  carry  a  piece  to  Mr.  Arthur  down  in  the 


112     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

field."  Seeing  a  look  of  surprise  on  Barbara's 
face,  she  interrupted  herself  to  explain.  "  A 
'piece,'  you  know,  is  just  a  bit  o'  lunch,  a 
sandwich  maybe  'r  a  nutcake  'r  such.  Well,  o' 
course,  I  done  it,  an'  he  started  off  with  his 
little  pail ;  an'  when  he  come  back  his  mother 
just  shut  him  up  to  stay  all  day  'n'  go  without 
his  dinner,  an'  called  him  a  servant  an'  such ! 
I  was  that  mad  I  could  V  stomped  on  her. 
Says  me,  'The  little  darlin'  shan't  go  without 
his  dinner.'  So  I  takes  the  piece  o'  chicken  he 
liked,  —  the  leg  it  was ;  an'  I  had  green- 
apple  pie  that  day,  an'  he  was  the  fondest  boy 
o'  green-apple  pie  ever  I  see  ;  so  I  cuts  him  a 
big  piece  o'  pie,  an'  just  sets  'em  away;  'n'  the 
pie  was  a  favorite,  an'  a  good  many  et  three 
pieces  an'  some  asked  for  more,  'n  I  says, e  I  'm 
sorry,  but  there  ain't  no  more  for  you ; '  'n' 
about  three  o'clock  poor  little  feller  come  down, 
'n'  I  calls  him,  says  I,  '  Come  here,  darlin', 
aunty's  got  somethin'  for  you;'  'n'  I  gave  him 
the  dinner;  'n'  he  says,  'Ma  '11  be  very  angry,' 
'n'  I  says,  '  Let  her,  then  !  '  I  was  so  mad  I 
did  n't  care  what  I  said,  'n'  he  set  down  an'  et 


DROLL  MRS.   BLAKE  113 

it  —  but  this  won't  make  cream  short-cake," 
she  interrupted  herself,  rushing  into  the  pan- 
try. 

In  a  moment  she  came  out,  with  a  pan  of 
flour  and  other  things,  and  proceeded  to  mix 
up  the  short-cake,  talking  all  the  time. 

"  You  see,  dearie,"  she  went  on,  "  I  've 
had  my  share  o'  trouble;  before  I  took  to 
keepin'  boarders  —  long  ago  when  I  was  a 
girl  'bout  your  size — I  was  allus  in  some  sort 
of  a  scrape." 

Barbara  thought  of  the  paper  basket  in  her 
own  life  and  was  silent. 

"One  thing  I  remember  particular,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Blake,  rubbing  the  butter  into  the 
flour  vigorously.  "It's  funny  now  —  but  it 
was  n't  funny  then,  I  tell  you.  You  see  I  was 
home  at  mother's,  —  she  had  a  farm  down  in 
York  state  where  you  come  from, — an'  we  had 
a  hog  that  would  come  into  the  cellar  every 
time  the  door  was  left  open ;  an'  one  day  father 
bro't  home  some  herrin',  'n'  it  was  more  'n  we 
could  eat,  'n'  mother  says  to  me,  says  she, 
( Sarah,  you  just  carry  'em  down  cellar  'n'  smoke 


114     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

'em  V  they  '11  be  nice.'  So  I  takes  a  three- 
gallon  jar  —  a  tall  old-fashioned  one  with  a 
little  neck  to  the  top,  'n'  I  carried  the  herrin' 
down  'n'  sets  the  jar  in  the  place  we  set  such 
things,  'n'  I  went  out  for  somethin'- 

Here  Mrs.  Blake  went  to  the  pantry  for  a 
rolling-pin,  rolled  out  the  short-cake  into  a 
big  square  shape,  put  it  into  a  baking-pan, 
and  shoved  it  into  the  oven,  Barbara  looking 
on  with  the  greatest  interest.  Then  washing 
her  hands,  Mrs.  Blake  proceeded  to  set  the 
table  and  went  on  with  her  story :  — 

"  Well,  do  you  know  I  had  n't  hardly  got 
out  when  that  hog  come  in  and  went  right 
for  the  jar  an'  stuck  her  head  in  !  'n'  could  n't 
git  it  out !  When  I  come  I  found  her  and 
scared  her  so  she  started  to  run  up  the  steps 
to  git  out  with  that  jar  on  her  head,  an'  she 
run  all  over  the  place  an'  banged  against 
fences  'n'  well  curb  'n'  barn  door  before  the 
jar  broke,  o'  course  scatterin'  herrin'  all  over 
the  place,  'n'  I  was  so  mad  I  could  V  killed  her, 
'n'  I  says,  1 1  bate  you  I  '11  cure  that  hog  o' 
comin'  in  my  cellar ; '  so  the  next  time  she 


DROLL  MRS.   BLAKE  115 

come  I  was  a  scaldin'  milk  pans  —  we  had 
thirty  cows  'n'  o'  course  a  lot  o'  milk  an'  many 
pans  to  wash,  'n'  I  allus  washed  'em  in  a  tub 
out  doors,  so's  not  to  sozzle  all  over  the 
kitchen  floor  —  seems  as  if  she  'd  come  a  pur- 
pose —  so  I  ups  with  a  handful  o'  water  an' 
I  sprinkles  her  good.  Did  n't  much  hit  her, 
but  she  did  holler  an'  run  for  a  mud  puddle, 
an'  flops  into  that  'n'  father  says, '  Sarah,  what 's 
the  matter  with  the  hog  ?'  an'  says  I, '  Just  let 
her  come  into  my  cellar  again  'n'  she  '11  find 
out.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  have  no  hog  comin' 
into  my  cellar.' ' 

Barbara  laughed.  "Did  she  ever  come  in 
again?" 

"  No,  she  never  did,  an'  that  fall  she  went 
into  the  pork  barrel.  But  I  had  a  worse  time 
a  year  or  two  ago  with  another  hog;  hogs 
are  the  worst  critters,  I  do  believe !  I  had  set 
bread  arisin'  on  the  stove  hearth,  and  Blake 
he'd  picked  a  bushel  o'  pears  for  a  man  to 
carry  over  to  brother  John's,  'n'  I  'd  just  done  a 
churnin'  'n'  had  two  pails  o'  buttermilk  :  well, 
I  'd  forgot  entirely  that  Blake  'd  put  a  sheep 


116     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

in  the  orchard  that  was  all  for  runnin'  away 
—  the  day  before  he  'd  spent  half  a  day  runnin' 
after  it ;  well,  after  a  few  minutes  I  looked  out 
'n'  there  was  that  sheep  a-runnin'  for  life,  V  I 
never  thought  of  nothin'  but  savin'  him  a  chase, 
so  I  runs  out  'n'  left  my  kitchen  door  open  — 
great  gump  that  I  was !  Well,  that  very  day 
Blake  'd  let  out  an  old  hog  'n'  five  pigs  —  but 
they  was  most  as  big  as  she  was  —  'n'  after  I 
run  f'r  the  sheep  awhile  I  suddenly  remem- 
bered I  'd  left  the  door  open  'n'  I  turned  - 
says  I, '  Legs,  do  your  duty/  'n'  I  ran  hard  as 
ever  I  could.  There !  I  had  n't  been  gone  ten 
minutes — mout  V  been  fifteen,  but  I  don't 
think  it  were  —  'n'  them  hogs  had  upset  the 
bushel  o'  pears  'n'  the  buttermilk  'n'  had  got 
my  two  loaves  o'  bread  into  the  mess  on  the 
floor.  Well,  I  stood  'n'  looked.  I  never  was  so 
mad  in  my  life  —  I  could  'a'  killed  'em  easy — 
'n'  just  then  the  butcher  came  in  'n'  says  he, 
1  Miss  Blake,  I  do  pity  ye !  what  'd  ye  do  when 
ye  come  in?  did  ye  laugh  or  cry  ? '  says  he,  'n' 
I  says, '  Well,  I  know  the  devil  got  into  a  hog, 
'n'  I  don't  believe  he  ever  got  out.' ' 


DROLL  MRS.  BLAKE  117 

At  this  moment  Uncle  Karl  and  Mr.  Blake 
came  in,  and  Mrs.  Blake  burst  out,  — 

"  Well  now,  Mr.  Burton,  I  guess  I  've  nigh 
about  talked  your  niece  to  death ;  I  've  been 
goin'  on  f 'r  all  I  'm  worth,  but  you  see  I  don't 
often  get  a  chance  to  let  out  now-days,  'n* 
when  you  say  boarder  to  me  I  just  boil  over," 
and  she  ended  with  a  hearty  laugh  in  which 
Barbara  and  Uncle  Karl  joined. 

Then  going  to  the  stove  she  drew  out  the 
short-cake.  It  was  light  and  brown,  and  the 
top  all  scored  in  squares.  She  turned  it  out  on 
the  table  and  broke  it  up  into  the  squares 
as  it  was  marked,  splitting  them  as  if  to  but-  , 
ter  them.  Then  she  put  each  piece  into  a 
saucepan  on  the  stove,  which  was  half  full  of 
steaming  hot  cream — thick  and  rich.  As  the 
pieces  were  properly  soaked  she  lifted  them 
out  and  piled  them  on  a  platter,  and  then 
they  sat  down  to  tea.  The  table  was  already 
loaded  with  good  things,  which  she  had  put 
on  while  telling  her  story;  two  or  three  kinds 
of  pie,  four  kinds  of  cake,  several  kinds  of  pre- 
serves, and  sweet  pickles  and  cream  cheese,  etc. 


118     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

The  cream  short-cake  proved  to  be  so  de- 
licious that  Barbara  did  not  want  to  eat  any- 
thing else,  though  Mrs.  Blake  placed  a  double 
row  of  little  dishes  around  her  plate,  each  one 
having  something  most  tempting. 

"  Mrs.  Blake  's  a  master  hand  for  pies," 
said  Uncle  Karl  after  he  had  eaten  two  pieces, 
"  and  every  one 's  better  than  the  others ;  one 
never  knows  where  to  leave  off ;  I  don't  won- 
der you  have  a  houseful  of  boarders  every 
summer ;  you  must  make  hundreds  of  pies  in 
a  season." 

"  One  year,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  "  I  did  try  to 
f.  keep  count,  'n'  I  got  up  to  near  four  hundred, 
'n'  then  I  got  clear  tuckered  out  with  some 
folks  with  a  packle  o*  young  ones  't  I  never 
could  fill  up,  'n'  I  lost  count  'n'  near  took  to 
my  bed." 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  BEAR  IN  CAMP 

"AIN'T  Harris  sugerin'  off  to-night?"  Mrs. 
Blake  asked  her  husband  at  the  supper  table. 

"  Yes,  he  told  me  he  was,"  was  the  answer, 
and  Mrs.  Blake  turned  to  Barbara,  — 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  sugarin'  off,  dearie  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Barbara.   "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  it 's  up  in  the  sugar  bush  where 
they  boils  the  sap  down  to  sugar ;  just  before 
it  sugars  it 's  very  nice  to  eat ;  young  folks  is 
mostly  very  fond  of  it.  Blake,  you  can  hitch 
up  'n'  take  'em  over,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  answered  Mr.  Blake,  "  if  they 
wants  to  go." 

"  Should  you  like  to  go,  Barbara  ?  "  asked 
her  uncle. 

"  Yes,  if  you  '11  go  too,"  she  said  eagerly. 

"  Of  course  I  '11  go  ;  I  like  maple  wax  my- 
self, though  it 's  years  since  I  had  any  —  not 
since  I  was  a  boy,  I  believe." 


120     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark  Mr.  Blake  drove  up 
to  the  door  with  a  big  lumber  wagon  and  two 
farm  horses  to  draw  it.  There  was  only  one 
seat  stuck  up  high  in  front,  and  Barbara  was 
half  afraid  to  get  up  there.  She  begged  Uncle 
Karl  to  let  her  ride  on  the  straw  which  half 
filled  the  wagon-box. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  cried  Mrs.  Blake  from  the  door, 
"  let  her  sit  in  the  little  chair  in  the  straw ; 
that  '11  be  nicer  'n'  warmer  too,"  and  she 
hastened  to  bring  out  a  small  child's  chair 
which  had  belonged  to  their  only  son,  now  a 
young  man  of  eighteen. 

Barbara  was  tucked  in  warmly  with  shawls 
and  a  buffalo-skin  robe,  and  Uncle  Karl 
climbed  up  to  the  high  seat  beside  Mr.  Blake, 
and  off  they  went. 

After  a  mile  or  two  of  riding  they  turned 
into  a  woods  road  through  the  trees,  and  there 
the  snow  had  not  melted  away  as  it  had  out- 
side. 

Before  long  they  saw  light  shining  between 
the  trees,  and  Uncle  Karl  called  to  Barbara 
that  they  were  almost  there.  In  a  moment 


A  BEAR  IN  CAMP  121 

the  wagon  stopped  and  Barbara  found  herself 
before  a  big  blazing  fire,  with  a  woman  and 
two  girls  standing  beside  a  great  kettle,  which 
was  steaming  and  sending  out  a  delicious 
odor. 

"  Where 's  Harris  ?  "  called  Mr.  Blake. 

"  He  had  to  go  to  the  farm  for  more  pans," 
said  Mrs.  Harris.  "  He  '11  be  back  soon  ;  won't 
you  light?" 

"I've  brought  a  young  city  girl  and  her 
uncle  to  see  a  sugarin'  off,  'n'  I  '11  just  drive 
back  'n'  meet  Harris,"  said  Mr.  Blake. 

"  He  '11  take  it  very  kind  of  you  —  an'  the 
young  lady  is  welcome,"  said  Mrs.  Harris. 
"  Did  you  never  see  a  sugar  camp,  miss  ?  " 
she  asked  as  Barbara  drew  near  the  great 
kettle  which  one  of  the  girls  was  watching. 

"  No ;  is  that  going  to  be  maple  sugar  ?  " 
asked  Barbara. 

"Yes;  it's  most  done  now.  Tilly,"  turning 
to  her  daughter,  "get  some  snow  and  offer 
the  young  lady  some  wax.  Young  folks  is 
mostly  fond  of  wax,"  she  added  to  Barbara. 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  girl  brought  to 


122     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Barbara  a  plate  packed  hard  with  snow,  on 
which  she  had  dropped  out  of  the  kettle  sev- 
eral little  dabs  of  the  boiling  sap.  These  had 
spread  out  and  hardened,  and  Barbara  found 
them  so  delicious  that  she  ate  them  all,  and 
the  smiling  girl,  about  her  own  age,  filled  her 
plate  again. 

"You  like  it  so  well,"  said  Mrs.  Harris, 
"should  you  like  a  cake  of  it  to  take  home?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Barbara. 

"  Well,  I'll  make  you  one,"  said  Mrs.  Harris, 
and  as  good  as  her  word  she  made  a  little  cake 
and  set  it  out  in  the  snow  to  cool. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  to  stay  out  here  alone?  " 
asked  Barbara,  when  she  had  eaten  all  she 
could  of  the  delicious  wax  and  was  sitting 
beside  Uncle  Karl  on  a  log. 

"Why,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Harris,  "there's 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of;  coyotes  come  around 
sometimes,  but  they  're  easily  scared  away.  We 
have  once  or  twice  had  a  bear  come  about. 
Bears,  you  know,  love  sugar  awfully  and  some- 
times they  upset  the  sap  buckets,  they  're  such 
clumsy  great  things  !  " 


A  BEAR  IN   CAMP  123 

"Ma,"  whispered  one  of  the  girls  at  this 
moment,  "I  surely  hear  something  moving 
over  that  way." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  her  mother.  "  You  're 
always  hearin'  bugars." 

"  But  there  is  something !  "  cried  Barbara 
excitedly.  "  I  hear  it !  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  and 
she  laid  hold  of  her  uncle's  arm  in  terror. 

"There  —  there!"  said  Uncle  Karl  sooth- 
ingly. "  Don't  be  scared,  girlie !  If  there  is 
anything,  the  worst  it  can  be  in  these  woods 
is  a  bear,  and  he  '11  be  after  the  sugar  and 
not  us." 

"  It  is  a  bear !  and  he 's  coming  this  way ! " 
shrieked  the  girl  who  had  first  heard  it,  and 
she  scampered  into  the  little  cabin  where  they 
lived  while  making  sugar.  "  Come  in,  every- 
body !  "  she  cried  as  she  ran. 

"  Yes,  come  in ! "  said  Mrs.  Harris,  now 
frightened  herself.  "  If  I  only  had  a  gun  !  " 
she  added.  "Could  you  shoot  it,  mister?" 
turning  to  Uncle  Karl. 

"  I  might  perhaps,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "  but 
I'd  rather  see  it  alive;"  for  Uncle  Karl  was 


124     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

not  alone  an  artist — he  had  a  special  love  for 
all  animal  life,  and  his  best  pictures  were  of 
animals.  He  could  put  life  and  expression 
into  the  drawing  of  an  animal  that  few  could 
equal. 

"  Oh,  come  in ! "  cried  Barbara,  as  he 
lingered,  hoping  to  see  Bruin.  To  please  her 
he  went  to  the  cabin,  and  while  the  rest  of 
the  party  were  inside,  he  stood  at  the  open 
door,  gazing  eagerly  into  the  lighted  space 
around  the  fire. 

"  Come  in !  Come  in !  "  cried  Barbara,  pull- 
ing at  his  coat  sleeve. 

"  Wait,  girlie  !  "  he  said  quietly.  "  I  can 
come  in  quick  enough  if  he  comes  this  way ; 
but  I  want  to  see  him." 

The  bear,  shuffling  along,  now  came  in  plain 
sight,  and  looking  out  of  the  one  little  window 
they  could  see  him  sniffing  about  the  great 
kettle.  But  the  fire  evidently  did  not  please 
him,  and  he  moved  along  uneasily,  Uncle 
Karl  perfectly  absorbed  in  looking  at  him. 

"  Oh,  he 's  coming ! "  cried  Barbara  in  terror, 
trying  to  drag  Uncle  Karl  within. 


A   BEAR  IN  CAMP  125 

But  Uncle  Karl  shook  her  off,  saying  almost 
sternly  for  him,  "  Go  in  yourself  if  you  're 
afraid !  I  want  to  see  what  he  '11  do,"  and 
gently  pushing  her  into  the  cabin,  he  closed 
the  door  —  himself  outside. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  cried  Barbara  wildly. 
But  Mrs.  Harris  said  quietly,  "  You  need  n't 
be  so  scared,  miss.  The  bear  won't  touch  any- 
body, not  while  there 's  sugar  about.  What 
I'm  afraid  of,  is  that  he'll  meddle  with  that 
hot  kettle  and  upset  it  —  I  've  heard  of  such 
things,"  and  she  looked  anxiously  out  the 
small  window,  muttering  in  low  tones,  "I 
wisht  I  had  the  gun  !  it  was  stupid  to  forget 
it." 

Meanwhile  the  hungry  fellow  outside  was 
snuffing  around,  evidently  wild  for  that  sugar, 
but  as  plainly  afraid  of  the  fire;  probably  he 
had  had  some  experience  with  fire  before. 
Suddenly  he  came  upon  something  that  in- 
terested him,  and  Mrs.  Harris,  watching  him, 
eagerly  cried  out, — 

"  Thank  goodness !  He 's  found  that  cake 
o'  wax  !  That  '11  give  him  something  to  do." 


126     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

And  it  did !  The  teeth  of  the  great  beast 
closed  upon  the  stiffened  mass,  and  for  an  in- 
stant Bruin  was  happy.  But  only  for  an  instant 
—  for  on  trying  to  bite,  he  found  his  teeth 
locked  in  the  wax  and  not  to  be  got  out.  He 
shook  his  head  violently,  and  then  Barbara 
heard  a  laugh  from  Uncle  Karl,  who  pushed 
open  the  door,  crying,  "  Now  if  you  want  to  see 
some  fun,  come  out  here,  all  of  you !  " 

Mrs.  Harris  hurried  out,  but  Barbara  stood 
in  the  door,  ready  to  dodge  back  inside  if  the 
bear  came  towards  them.  She  soon  saw,  how- 
ever, that  he  had  enough  business  of  his  own 
to  keep  him  from  troubling  himself  about 
other  people. 

He  could  n't  have  been  funnier  if  he  had 
been  performing  for  their  amusement,  and 
Uncle  Karl  roared  with  laughter  at  his  droll 
antics.  He  turned  somersets ;  he  rolled  over 
and  over ;  he  whirled  round  and  round  like  a 
crazy  top ;  he  almost  stood  on  his  head ;  he 
lay  on  his  back  and  savagely  pawed  the  air 
with  all  four  Jegs,  all  the  time  frantically 
brushing  with  his  huge  paws  the  side  of  his 


A  BEAR  IN  CAMP  127 

face,  trying  to  rid  himself  of  his  too-too- 
sweet  mouthful. 

Now  and  then  he  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs 
and  beat  and  clawed  at  his  face,  waving  his 
arms  and  looking  like  a  man  gone  crazy. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Barbara  in  the  pauses 
of  laughing,  "I  wonder  if  he'll  ever  get  it 
off!" 

"  Oh,  it  won't  hurt  him,"  said  Uncle  Karl, 
"  for  it  '11  gradually  soften  and  be  swallowed. 
It  won't  hurt  him  —  if  he  only  knew  it  — 
unless  he  bangs  himself  against  a  tree  in  his 
frenzy." 

"  He 's  smeared  it  all  over  his  eyes  with  his 
paws,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  don't  believe  he  can 
see." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  that  gun  was  here  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Harris  eagerly.  "  You  could  shoot  him,  could 
n't  you,  Mr.  Burton  ?  " 

"  I  might  be  able  to,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "  but 
I  would  n't  for  anything  !  " 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Harris.  "Bear's 
meat  is  very  good,  and  the  skin  makes  a  fine 
robe." 


128     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  taking  a 
mean  advantage  of  a  poor  fellow  in  distress  ?  " 
asked  Uncle  Karl,  who  was  every  bit  an  art- 
ist and  animal-lover,  and  not  a  bit  of  a 
hunter. 

"  But  he  stole  my  wax,"  urged  Mrs.  Harris, 
somewhat  surprised  at  this  new  way  of  look- 
ing at  a  bear. 

"  How  did  he  know  it  was  yours  ?  "  asked 
Uncle  Karl.  "  Perhaps  he  thought  it  was  put 
there  on  purpose  for  him.  He  loves  sweets 
like  the  rest  of  us,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  has 
been  taught  the  Ten  Commandments." 

That  was  another  new  thought  to  Mrs.  Har- 
ris, and  she  found  nothing  to  say  in  answer 
to  it. 

Just  then  the  wagon  was  heard  coming 
back,  with  much  noise  of  jingling  harness  and 
wheels  screeching  in  the  snow.  The  bear 
heard  it  too,  and  at  once  started  running  away 
from  it  —  still  clawing  at  his  jaws,  and  bump- 
ing against  the  trees  in  his  way. 

"John,"  called  Mrs.  Harris  as  they  drew 
near,  "  did  you  think  to  bring  the  gun  ?  " 


A  BEAR  IN  CAMP  129 

"  By  Jiminy !  I  clean  forgot  it !  "  replied 
Mr.  Harris. 

"  Well,  you  've  lost  a  chance  to  get  a  bear- 
skin," said  Uncle  Karl  pleasantly,  "  and  we  've 
had  enough  fun  out  of  the  poor  fellow  to  pay 
for  the  wax." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  he  did  n't  bring  it ! "  said 
Barbara  in  a  whisper  in  Uncle  Karl 's  ear. 

It  was  now  getting  late,  and  Uncle  Karl  and 
Barbara,  thinking  they  had  enjoyed  enough 
for  one  day,  climbed  into  the  wagon  and  drove 
back  to  Mrs.  Blake's. 

That  good  woman  had  ready  a  nice  lunch 
for  them,  and  when  they  had  eaten  a  little  to 
please  her,  and  started  for  bed,  the  tall  old 
clock  in  the  hall  struck  two. 

"  Good  night,  girlie  !  "  said  Uncle  Karl  as 
they  parted  for  the  night.  "  Have  you  had  a 
good  day  ?  " 

"  Splendid  !  "  cried  Barbara  with  shining 
eyes,  following  Mrs.  Blake  into  the  room  pre- 
pared for  her. 

It  was  a  queer  little  room,  with  the  queer- 
est furniture  Barbara  had  ever  seen,  every 


130     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

piece  a  hundred  years  old ;  but  the  bed  aston- 
ished her.  It  was  an  enormous  structure  with 
a  tall  post  at  each  corner  and  a  canopy  over 
the  whole ;  and  the  bed  itself  was  so  high 
that  she  did  n't  see  how  she  should  get  into 
it. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Blake,"  she  said  timidly,  "  that 
bed 's  so  high,  —  how  shall  I  climb  into  it  ?  " 

"  You  don't  want  to  climb,"  said  Mrs.  Blake, 
"  because  it 's  feathers ;  you  want  to  get  right 
into  the  middle.  I  guess  you  better  step  on  a 
chair  and  jump  in.  Then  you  '11  be  all  snug 
and  cozy  —  I  used  to  love  to  do  that  when  I 
was  young  and  spry;  you  can  leave  your 
candle  burning  so  you  can  see  to  get  in,  and 
I  '11  come  in  and  get  it." 

As  she  spoke  Mrs.  Blake  carefully  turned 
back  the  bedclothes  ready  for  the  plunge. 

When  Barbara  was  undressed  she  did  as  she 
was  bid,  and  from  a  chair  at  the  bedside  she 
sprang  into  the  very  middle  of  the  feathery 
sea,  where  she  sank  down  almost  out  of  sight. 
Drawing  the  bedding  up  around  her,  she  was 
asleep  almost  as  soon  as  she  touched  the  pil- 


A  BEAR  IN  CAMP  131 

low,  and  she  did  not  know  when  Mrs.  Blake 
came  in  to  take  the  candle. 

"  Did  you  sleep  well,  girlie  ?  "  asked  Uncle 
Karl  the  next  morning  when  they  met  on  the 
stairs  on  their  way  to  breakfast. 

"  Oh,  splendidly !  "  cried  Barbara.  "  I  had 
a  regular  feather  nest  —  like  a  bird's  nest !  " 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  enjoyed  it, "  said 
Uncle  Karl  rather  ruefully.  "  I  had  one  like 
it,  and  I  did  n't  sleep  a  wink ;  I  was  fairly 
smothered." 

The  breakfast  was  like  the  supper,  with  the 
addition  of  warm  griddle-cakes  and  coffee,  and 
the  omission  of  the  cream  shortcake,  and  be- 
fore ten  o'clock  Old  Charley  was  brought  out, 
and  Uncle  Karl  and  Barbara  started  for 
home.  They  did  not  take  a  dish-pan  dinner  at 
the  Quinns',  for  Mrs.  Blake  had  put  up  for 
them  a  bountiful  luncheon,  which  they  ate  in 
the  wagon,  while  Charley  —  half -unharnessed 
—  took  his  from  a  box,  which  the  same  good 
hostess  had  provided. 

"Wife,"  said  Uncle  Karl  that  evening 
when  they  sat  at  the  supper-table,  "  Barbara 


132    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

has  had  some  lessons  in  table  manners  since 
we  left  home;  I  expect  she'll  astonish  the 
down-easters,  when  she  goes  back,  with  her 
expertness  with  the  knife;  we  dined  with 
Farmer  Quinn  on  our  way." 

"  Now  Uncle  Karl ! "  protested  Barbara. 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Aunt  Betty  with  disgust. 
"  I  never  could  bear  to  see  pigs  eat !  " 


CHAPTER  XIH 

IN  A  BLIZZARD 

"  WIFE,"  said  Uncle  Karl  one  morning  at 
the  breakfast-table,  laying  down  a  letter  he 
had  just  read,  "  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to  Mill- 
town  to  settle  that  business  after  all ;  I  can't 
put  it  off  any  longer." 

"  I  knew  you  ought  to  go  a  long  time  ago," 
said  Aunt  Betty. 

"  I  know  you  did,"  said  Uncle  Karl 
meekly ;  "  but  I  never  seem  to  get  time  to  do 
it ;  now  I  must." 

Barbara  listened  eagerly ;  Uncle  Karl's  go- 
ing away  was  something  she  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of ;  now  she  broke  in. 

"Where  is  it  you're  going,  Uncle  Karl? 
Let  me  go  too  !  " 

"  Why,  girlie,  I  'd  love  to  take  you  if  it 
was  summer;  it's  a  pretty  ride  away  up  in  the 
hills  about  fifty  miles  off ;  but  now  —  " 


134    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  it  will  be  nice  now !  "  urged 
Barbara.  "  Do  you  go  in  a  carriage  ?  " 

"  No ;  in  a  stage.  I  'm  afraid,"  he  added 
doubtfully,  "I'm  afraid  there  may  be  some 
snow  left  in  the  hills ;  it  hangs  on  there  long 
after  the  prairies  are  bare." 

"  That  would  n't  make  any  difference,"  said 
Barbara.  "  I  love  to  take  stage  journeys.  Do 
let  me  go,  Uncle  Karl !  " 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that 
warned  Uncle  Karl  that  she  would  n't  be  very 
happy  without  him,  for  although  she  had  got 
over  her  first  dread  of  Aunt  Betty  and  her 
ways,  she  never  felt  really  at  home  in  the 
house ;  her  whole  happiness  was  in  the  studio. 
He  felt  that  having  taken  her  away  from  her 
home  he  was  bound  to  keep  her  well  and  con- 
tented ;  so  he  hesitated. 

"  I  should  think  it  a  very  f oolish  trip  for  a 
young  girl  to  take,"  said  Aunt  Betty  grimly ; 
"  but  there 's  no  folly  you  two  are  n't  capable  of 
committing.  You  're  about  as  much  of  a  child 
as  she  is,"  -  nodding  at  her  husband  half 
seriously  as  she  rose  to  leave  the  room. 


IN  A  BLIZZARD  135 

"I  know,"  said  Uncle  Karl  doubtfully; 
"it  may  be  very  foolish — "  and  he  hesitated, 
while,  Aunt  Betty  having  closed  the  door, 
Barbara  sprang  up  and  threw  her  arms  around 
his  neck. 

"  Please  —  please,  Uncle  Karl !  "  she  cried 
coaxingly.  "  You  know  I  can't  be  left  alone 
here ! " 

Uncle  Karl  could  not  resist  longer.  "  Well, 
girlie,"  he  said,  "  if  you  '11  take  the  risk  of  a 
hard  trip  —  though  I  hope  it  won't  prove  so 
-  why  —  why  —  The  end  of  the  sentence 
was  smothered  in  Barbara's  eager  kisses,  and 
so  the  matter  was  settled. 

The  next  morning  found  the  two  travelers 
waiting  for  the  stage,  which  had  been  ordered 
to  call  for  them.  The  weather  was  still  cold, 
and  Aunt  Betty  had  insisted  that  if  Barbara 
would  go,  she  should  have  wraps  enough  to 
be  comfortable.  So,  although  Barbara  pro- 
tested almost  to  the  point  of  tears,  she  was 
forced  to  yield  to  her  aunt's  good  sense,  and 
be  clothed  in  the  warmest  things  of  her  own, 
with  a  few  of  her  aunt's  over  them. 


136    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Worst  of  all  was  a  great  hood  which  Aunt 
Betty  said  positively  she  should  not  go  with- 
out, and  Uncle  Karl  was  obliged  to  agree  with 
her  that  the  summer-like  hats  Barbara  had 
brought  from  home  were  no  protection  against 
the  sharp  winds  of  Minnesota. 

Hating  it  with  all  her  heart,  Barbara  was 
yet  obliged  to  wear  it,  or  give  up  the  trip,  as 
Uncle  Karl  was,  for  once,  firm  against  coax- 
ing. So  it  was  a  very  cross  face  that  looked 
away  from  Aunt  Betty  and  wouldn't  say 
good-by,  when  the  stage  drove  up  to  the 
door. 

This  vehicle  was  the  old-fashioned  sort, 
and  the  choice  seat  in  fine  weather  is  that 
beside  the  driver,  where  all  the  country  can 
be  seen,  and  there  is  plenty  of  fresh  air. 
This  seat  Uncle  Karl  had  taken  for  Barbara 
and  himself. 

"  Uncle  Karl,"  said  Barbara,  as  she  stood 
by  the  wheel  looking  up  at  the  seat  so  high 
above  her  head,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  can't  climb  up 
to  that  seat," — with  all  these  people  looking 
on,  she  might  have  added,  for  if  she  had 


IN  A  BLIZZARD  137 

been  alone  she  would  not  have  hesitated,  but 
taking  such  a  climb  before  spectators  rather 
scared  her. 

"Would  you  rather  go  inside?"  asked 
Uncle  Karl. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  if  I  can  get  up  there." 

"  What !  such  a  little  climber  as  you  used 
to  be  ?  "  said  Uncle  Karl,  laughing.  "  Don't 
you  see  the  steps?  You  put  your  first  foot 
here  —  the  next  one  there  —  the  driver  will 
give  you  a  hand,  and  I  '11  be  here  to  catch 
you  if  you  fall."  Barbara,  seeing  that  he  was 
joking  her,  boldly  put  her  foot  where  he  had 
showed  her;  seized  the  stout  hand  held  down 
to  her;  Uncle  Karl  gave  her  a  lift;  and  the 
next  minute  she  dropped  into  the  seat  beside 
the  driver,  breathless  but  happy.  In  a  moment 
Uncle  Karl,  who  was  rather  stout,  puffing 
and  blowing  from  the  exertion  of  the  climb, 
took  his  seat  beside  her,  and  they  were  off. 

"  There,  girlie  !  is  n't  this  fine  !  "  he  said 
as  they  passed  out  of  the  little  town  and  struck 
into  the  open  country. 

"  Splendid  ! "  said  Barbara,  at  once  forget- 


138     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

ting  the  hateful  hood.  "  I  'm  so  glad  you  got 
these  seats." 

After  two  or  three  hours'  pleasant  riding 
over  the  smooth  prairie,  it  began  to  cloud  up, 
and  Uncle  Karl  said,  "  It  looks  a  little  like 
snow,  does  n't  it,  driver  ?  " 

"  It  does  that,"  said  the  driver,  a  little 
anxiously,  "and  there's  a  plenty  snow  now 
back  in  the  hills.  I  had  hard  enough  work 
getting  through  yesterday." 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  '11  hold  off  a  while,"  said 
Uncle  Karl  cheerfully. 

"  Maybe,"  said  the  driver.  "Get  up,  Bill!  " 

But  it  didn't  hold  off;  the  clouds  came 
nearer,  and  in  an  hour  or  so  it  began  to  snow. 

"  I  guess  you  better  go  inside,  girlie,"  said 
Uncle  Karl. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  a  little  snow  won't  hurt  me,"  said 
Barbara,  "  and  I  do  love  to  see  it  snow !  " 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  driver ;  "  you  would  n't 
if  you  had  to  drive  through  the  hills  ahead 
there!" 

Faster  and  faster  came  the  snow,  and  more 
and  more  the  driver  urged  his  horses.  Soon 


IN  A  BLIZZARD  139 

Uncle  Karl  and  Barbara  were  mounds  of  snow 
and  had  to  keep  brushing  it  away  from  eyes 
and  mouth. 

"How  far  is  it  to  Swift's?"  asked  Uncle 
Karl  after  a  while. 

"A  mile  or  two  yet,"  said  the  driver ;  "  but 
I  shan't  stop  there  for  dinner  to-day.  I  must 
get  through  before  dark  —  if  I  get  through 
at  all,"  he  added,  muttering  to  himself. 

When  they  reached  Swift's,  the  usual  dining- 
place,  the  horses  were  changed  and  Uncle  Karl 
and  Barbara  got  inside  the  coach.  Dinner  was 
ready  in  the  little  inn,  but  the  driver  would  n't 
wait,  so  the  passengers  took  what  they  coul<J 
carry  from  the  table  and  hurried  back  into  the 
stage,  the  driver  being  already  in  his  seat  and 
calling  them  to  hurry  up. 

"Now,  girlie,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "what  a 
pity  we  haven't  some  of  those  nice  lunch- 
boxes  along ! " 

Barbara  burst  into  a  laugh,  which  was  what 
Uncle  Karl  wanted,  for  he  thought  she  looked 
anxious. 

Soon  they  reached  the  hills,  and  found  that 


140     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

the  driver  had  not  exaggerated.  The  side  of 
the  track  was  piled  high  with  snow,  and  the 
fresh  snow  falling  so  fast  made  the  roads  very 
heavy. 

The  horses  first  fell  to  a  walk,  then  —  as  it 
grew  worse  and  worse  —  they  floundered  and 
struggled,  often  stopped  short  and  refused  to 
go  on,  till  after  a  little  rest  the  driver  urged 
them  again. 

"  This  looks  pretty  bad,"  said  one  of  the 
passengers  on  the  back  seat.  "  It  'minds  me 
of  the  time  I  got  snowed-up  'way  back  in 
Michigan  in  '49.  There  warn't  no  hills  neither 
—  but  you  couldn't  see  your  hand  before 
you,  and  the  horses  —  no,  mules  they  was  — 
could  n't  keep  the  road." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  asked  another  pas- 
senger. 

"  Why,  we  just  camped  out  in  the  sleigh," 
said  the  first  speaker.  "  The  country  was  all 
wild  then  and  there  warn't  no  houses  anywhere 
about." 

"  I  should  'a'  thought  you  'd  'a'  froze,"  said 
the  other. 


IN  A  BLIZZARD  141 

"  Oh,  no !  we  made  ourselves  dens  in  the 
deep  snow  and  did  n't  suffer  much  from  cold 
—  but  we  did  nigh  about  starve  —  for  not  a 
thing  could  we  get  to  eat.  Jiminy !  did  n't 
supper  taste  good  when  we  got  to  a  farmhouse 
after  two  days'  hard  work  !  " 

"  Uncle  Karl,"  whispered  Barbara,  "what  '11 
we  do  if  we  get  stuck  in  the  snow  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Uncle  Karl  cheerfully, "  we  '11 
hunt  around  and  find  some  farmhouse  where 
we  can  stay." 

"  But  if  there  is  n't  any  farmhouse  ?  "  per- 
sisted Barbara. 

"  Well"  — he  hesitated — "  then  we  '11  camp 
out  in  the  stage,  and  think  about  the  lunch- 
boxes  we  did  n't  bring  along." 

Barbara  laughed. 

"  And  if  worst  comes  to  worst  —  why,  we 
need  n't  really  starve  —  we  can  eat  one  of  the 
horses." 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  cried  Barbara,  "  how 
dreadful ! " 

"  Why  so?  "  asked  Uncle  Karl  half  seriously. 
"  We  eat  cows  —  why  not  horses  ?  But  I  don't 


142  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

think  we  '11  come  to  that,"  he  added,  just  as 
the  driver  came  to  the  door. 

"I'm  plum  stuck  here,"   he  said  gruffly. 
"  My  cattle  can't  go  a  step  further.    I  think 
Joe  Jansen's  cabin  is  down  the  road  a  piece. 
You  can  go  down  there  and  take  what  you 
can  get  —  I  guess  not  very  much,  though  - 
or  you  can  stick  by  the  coach  —  as  I  shall  — 
till  it  moderates,  or  they  send  help  from  the 
barn." 

"  What  is  the  prospect  for  that  ?  "  asked 
Uncle  Karl. 

"Well,  to  be  honest,"  said  the  driver,  "I 
don't  suppose  they  '11  worry  about  us  till 
morning,  and  they  could  n't  possibly  get  to 
us  —  with  all  the  help  and  horses  they  can  get 
-before  noon  to-morrow.  I  think  your  lit- 
tle gal,"  looking  at  Barbara's  staring  eyes, 
"  would  be  better  off  if  you  could  get  to  Joe's. 
He's  a  decent  fellow  enough,  and  he  has  a 
decent  wife,  I  believe  —  and  soon  's  the  road  's 
open  you  could  take  the  next  stage  through." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Joe's  ?  "  asked  Uncle 
Karl ;  "and  how  shall  we  find  it?  " 


IN  A  PLIZZARD  143 

"You  go  back  on  the  road  a  piece  — 
maybe  half  a  mile,"  said  the  driver,  "and  when 
you  come  to  a  road  to  the  right  —  though  I 
do'  know  's  you  can  see  any  road  now,"  he 
interrupted  himself  —  "  anyway  —  if  you  do 
find  it,  maybe  you'll  see  Joe's  tracks;  he 
mostly  goes  to  the  tavern  back  there  every  day. 
His  cabin  is  down  that  road  a  little  —  maybe 
you  '11  see  the  light  —  it 's  getting  dark  now." 

He  went  back  to  his  horses,  and  the  pas- 
sengers began  to  discuss  the  question  of  start- 
ing out  in  the  storm  to  find  Joe's,  or  sticking 
to  the  coach,  with  the  certainty  of  a  cold, 
hungry  night. 

"  What  do  you  say,  girlie  ?  "  asked  Uncle 
Karl  at  last.  "  Which  would  you  rather  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  let 's  go  for  the  cabin,"  she  cried  ea- 
gerly. "  I  'm  tired  to  death  of  sitting  still,  and 
I  'm  sure  I  should  be  dead  before  morning." 

Uncle  Karl  smiled.  "It  takes  more  than 
sitting  up  all  night  to  kill  one,"  he  said;  "but 
I  do  believe  it 's  our  best  chance  to  go  for 
the  cabin.  At  any  rate,  if  we  don't  find  it  we 
can  come  back." 


144    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Three  of  the  passengers  agreed  with  Uncle 
Karl,  and  at  last  they  set  off  in  a  party  - 
two  men  and  one  woman,  with  Uncle  Karl 
and  Barbara. 

First,  however,  Uncle  Karl  looked  at  Bar- 
bara's light  traveling  boots, — for  Aunt  Betty 
had  not  thought  of  their  being  obliged  to 
walk, — and  then  without  a  word  he  got  his 
valise  out  of  the  back  of  the  coach,  opened  it, 
took  out  a  pair  of  woolen  socks,  and  in  spite 
of  Barbara's  protest  that  her  feet  were  not 
cold,  and  she  could  walk  very  well  with  her 
shoes — he  insisted  on  drawing  them  on  over 
her  shoes.  Then  they  all  started  off. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  FRIENDLY  LOG  CABIN 

THEIR  first  plunge  into  the  snow  showed 
them  the  difficulty  the  poor  horses  had  to 
drag  them  even  so  far  as  this.  The  snow  was 
very  deep  and  dry,  —  almost  like  flour,  —  so 
that  it  was  very  hard  to  get  through  it. 

After  struggling  along  what  seemed  a  half- 
mile,  they  began  to  look  for  a  road,  but  the 
air  was  full  of  snow  and  it  was  getting  dark. 
Never  would  they  have  found  it  if  Barbara 
had  not  seen  a  faint  light.  Hanging  on  her 
uncle's  arm,  she  was  not  obliged  to  pick  her 
way  as  the  rest  were,  and  so  she  was  the  first 
to  see  the  light,  away  off  to  the  right. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl !  "  she  cried  joyfully, 
"there's  a  light!" 

With  fresh  courage  the  little  party  turned 
towards  the  welcome  sign,  and  struggled  on. 
They  could  find  no  road,  but  they  fought  their 
way  inch  by  inch,  often  falling  into  drifts, 


146     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

again  coming  against  fences  or  rocks,  or  some- 
thing which  they  had  to  go  around.  But  at 
last,  when  it  seemed  as  if  they  couldn't  go 
half  a  dozen  steps  farther,  they  came  near 
enough  to  see  that  their  beacon  light  was  in 
the  window  of  a  low  house.  Feeling  along 
the  wall  till  he  came  to  a  door,  Uncle  Karl 
knocked. 

"  Who 's  there  ?  "  called  a  woman's  voice. 

"  A  party  of  travelers  from  the  stage ;  let 
us  in,  please,"  answered  Uncle  Karl. 

"I  don't  keep  no  tavern,"  said  the  voice. 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  woman,  let  us  in  ! " 
cried  one  of  the  men.  "  Here 's  women  and  chil- 
dren suffering  out  here  in  this  storm." 

"  Oh,  do ! "  sobbed  the  woman,  who  was 
nearly  exhausted. 

At  that  the  lock  was  undone  and  the  door 
opened.  A  thin-faced,  hungry-looking  woman 
stood  there. 

"  If  there  's  women  and  children,"  she  said 
anxiously,  "I  can't  refuse  —  but  my  husband 
has  n't  got  back,  and  I  'm  worried  about  him 
—  and  I  can't  let  in  a  lot  of  strange  men." 


A  FRIENDLY  LOG  CABIN  147 

"  Certainly  you  could  n't,"  said  Uncle  Karl, 
in  his  pleasant  manner,  which  seemed  to  reas- 
sure her  at  once.  "  But  you  see  the  stage  is 
stuck,  up  on  the  hills,  and  we  had  to  stay 
there  all  night,  or  beg  your  hospitality." 

"Oh,  come  right  in,"  said  the  woman, 
catching  sight  of  Barbara  and  the  woman  out- 
side. "  It 's  little  enough  I  can  do  for  you  — 
but  at  least  it 's  better  than  out  in  the  snow." 

It  was  a  dismal  little  log  cabin  of  one  room 
into  which  they  went.  A  very  small  fire  burned 
on  the  hearth ;  a  bed  stood  on  one  side ;  a 
table  and  two  chairs  on  the  other,  and  that 
was  almost  all  the  place  contained.  Barbara 
looked  around  in  dismay.  "  Oh,  Uncle  Karl ," 
she  whispered,  "  we  can't  stay  here  ! " 

"  We  can  be  very  thankful,  my  dear,"  he 
said  quietly,  "  to  have  a  roof  over  our  heads, 
and  not  be  lying  out  in  the  snow  to  freeze,  or 
to  sleep  ourselves  to  death  before  morning. 
And  I  'm  sure,"  he  went  on  gently,  "  my  girlie 
is  too  sensible  to  be  silly  over  the  discomforts 
of  one  night." 

This  was  the  most  like  a  reproof  that  Uncle 


148     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Karl  had  ever  given  to  Barbara,  and  it  made 
her  see  how  childish  she  had  been.  She 
squeezed  his  hand  affectionately  by  way  of 
saying  she  was  sorry,  and  said  no  more. 

Meanwhile  the  party  grouped  itself  around 
the  fire,  which  the  woman  replenished  with  a 
stick  or  two,  and  then  she  returned  to  her  watch 
at  the  window,  for  she  was  plainly  very  anxious. 
Uncle  Karl  noticed  this,  and  said  quietly :  — 

"  As  soon  as  we  thaw  out  a  little,  madam, 
we  '11  go  out  and  look  for  your  husband." 

"  Oh,  if  you  would  !  "  she  cried.  "  He  never 
stayed  so  late  before !  I  'm  nearly  crazy.  I 
wish  I  had  more  chairs  to  offer  you,"  she 
went  on,  seeing  their  dilemma,  "  but  you 
must  do  the  best  you  can." 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "  we'll 
leave  the  chairs  to  the  ladies,  and  sit  on  the 
floor  —  if  you  '11  let  us  ;  "  and  without  waiting 
for  her  consent  he  dropped  on  the  floor  as  if 
he  had  sat  on  floors  all  his  life.  The  other  man 
followed,  and  the  woman  took  a  chair,  leaving 
the  other  chair  for  Uncle  Karl  and  Barbara. 

As  soon  as  they  were  warm,  Uncle  Karl 


A  FRIENDLY  LOG  CABIN  149 

asked  the  woman  —  Mrs.  Jansen  —  if  she  had 
a  lantern,  and  on  her  getting  one  and  lighting 
the  lamp  inside  he  said  :  — 

"  Now,  men,  shall  we  go  out  and  look  up  our 
host?" 

Both  men  rose,  and  taking  the  lantern 
Uncle  Karl  started  ahead,  first  turning  to 
Barbara,  who  stared  at  him  in  horror  of 
his  leaving  her,  and  whispered  :  — 

"  Now,  girlie,  show  yourself  the  brave  little 
girl  you  are.  Stay  here  and  see  that  the  light 
is  kept  bright  in  the  window,  and  all  will  be 
well ;  "  and  turning  he  left  with  the  men. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  the  anxious  woman,  turning  to 
Barbara,  "  how  kind  your  father  is  !" 

"My  uncle,"  interrupted  Barbara. 

"  Well,  whatever  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Jansen 
warmly,  "  he  's  an  angel  —  I  '11  say  that ! " 

"  Yes,  he  is  !  "  assented  Barbara,  "  the  best 
man  in  the  world." 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jansen. 

Meanwhile  the  men  were  struggling  towards 
the  road,  keeping  the  window  in  sight,  and 
waving  their  lantern  and  shouting  as  they  went. 


150     WHAT  HAPPENED   TO  BARBARA 

Not  fifty  feet  from  the  house  Uncle  Karl 
stumbled  over  something,  which,  as  he  rose,  he 
saw  to  his  horror  was  a  man,  apparently  asleep. 

"Here,  men  !  "   he  called,  "here  he  is  — 
we  must  carry  him  in." 

The  two  men  took  hold  of  the  unconscious 
figure,  and  Uncle  Karl  went  ahead  with  the 
lantern  to  show  the  path,  and  in  ten  minutes 
they  were  back  in  the  cabin  and  laid  their  bur- 
den on  the  bed. 

The  woman  was  nearly  wild,  for  she  thought 
he  was  dead ;  but  the  men,  used  to  the  cold  of 
that  country,  soon  found  that  he  was  only 
stupefied.  "Though,  if  we  hadn't  found 
him,"  said  one,  "  he  would  never  have  stirred 
again." 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  wife,  wringing  her  hands, 
"  what  can  I  ever  do  for  you !  You  have  saved 
his  life  —  and  he 's  all  I  have  in  the  world." 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Karl,  "he  is  saved, 
and  the  best  you  can  do  for  us  is  to  give  us 
something  to  eat  if  you  can.  We  have  had  no 
dinner — to  speak  of  —  and  anything  will  be 
welcome."  The  others  joined  in  the  request. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ONLY  POTATOES  TO  EAT 

AT  this  request  Mrs.  Jansen  at  first  looked 
embarrassed,  but  in  a  moment  she  spoke. 

"  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  but  to  tell 
the  truth  we  have  almost  nothing  ourselves. 
Joe  went  to-day  to  get  something — I  suppose 
you  did  n't  see  anything  when  you  found  him," 
she  added  anxiously. 

"  His  coat  pocket  seems  to  have  something 
in  it,"  said  one  of  the  men  who  had  been  work- 
ing over  him.  Eagerly  the  woman  searched  his 
pockets  and  found  a  small  package  of  meal. 

She  seized  the  package  with  an  air  of  relief 
and  hurried  to  the  fireplace,  where  she  hung 
a  kettle  over  the  fire  and  half  filled  it  with 
water.  As  soon  as  it  was  hot  she  opened  the 
package  of  meal  and  began  to  sprinkle  it 
into  the  water. 

Barbara  watched  her  with  deep  interest  as 
she  added  salt  and  stirred  and  beat  the  boil- 


152     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

ing  mass,  which  began  to  send  out  a  delicious 
odor. 

After  a  while  she  said  it  was  done,  and  lift- 
ing off  the  kettle  she  set  it  on  the  hearth  to 
cool.  Then  going  to  a  shelf  at  the  back  of 
the  cabin  she  brought  out  two  bowls,  and 
two  cups  and  saucers,  with  only  two  spoons, 
however.  This  was  scanty  allowance  for  six 
people,  but,  as  they  were  thankful  for  any- 
thing, nothing  was  said. 

With  a  tin  dipper  she  ladled  out  the  smok- 
ing mush  into  the  dishes  she  had  brought, 
and,  setting  them  on  the  table,  asked  her 
guests  to  help  themselves,  saying,  "  I  guess 
you  '11  have  to  take  turns  with  the  spoons  — 
it 's  all  I  have." 

Uncle  Karl,  who  seemed  naturally  to  be 
speaker  and  actor  for  the  party,  gave  the 
spoons  to  the  woman  passenger  and  Mrs. 
Jansen,  who  at  first  would  not  take  it,  till  he 
insisted,  saying  that  he  should  make  spoons 
for  the  rest.  He  then  took  from  his  pocket 
a  small  package  of  letters,  opened  one  that 
had  a  clean  sheet  inside,  and  with  a  deft  twist 


ONLY  POTATOES  TO  EAT  153 

of  his  handy  fingers  made  a  neat  little  scoop, 
which  he  handed  to  Barbara  with  a  merry 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Now,  girlie,"  he  said,  "see  how  well  you 
can  eat  with  a  scoop." 

With  a  laugh  Barbara  tried  it,  and  found 
it  worked  very  well.  Meanwhile  Uncle  Karl 
had  made  two  more  which  he  offered  to  the 
two  passengers.  Soon  they  had  all  filled  them- 
selves with  the  welcome  food,  and  began  to 
think  of  sleep. 

Arrangements  for  the  night  were  soon 
made ;  the  men  lay  down  on  the  floor  before 
the  fire,  while  the  woman  passenger  and  Bar- 
bara lay  on  the  bed.  Uncle  Karl  sat  on  the 
floor  beside  Barbara  and  laid  his  head  against 
the  bed  close  to  her,  for  she  couldn't  bear  to 
have  him  away. 

The  master  of  the  house,  who  had  now 
recovered,  sat  up  in  a  chair,  tilting  it  back 
on  two  legs  against  the  wall,  while  the  mis- 
tress, taking  the  business  of  keeping  the  fire 
going,  sat  up  in  the  other  chair. 

Thus  they  passed  the  night,  and  woke  in 


154     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

the  morning  to  find  the  little  log  cabin  almost 
huried  in  drifts  of  snow,  and  the  storm  still 
raging. 

The  situation  was  now  gloomy  enough  : 
there  was  nothing  to  eat;  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  get  anywhere  without  the  probability 
of  perishing  on  the  way.  Joe  and  his  wife  had 
a  whispered  consultation  outside  the  door,  and 
then  Joe  came  forward  and  said  :  — 

"Friends,  the  last  thing  —  and  the  only 
thing  I  have  on  earth  —  that  you  can  eat,  is 
a  bushel  of  potatoes  buried  out  behind  the 
house.  I  was  keeping  them  for  seed  next 
spring,"  he  went  on,  "  but  —  but  —  "  he 
hesitated. 

Uncle  Karl  broke  in  heartily.  "  Let  us  have 
the  potatoes !  We  '11  see  that  you  have  all 
the  seed  potatoes  you  want.  Of  course,"  look- 
ing around  at  the  men,  "  you  have  saved  our 
lives,  I  feel  sure,  and  we  shall  all  pay  you 
according  to  our  ability.  That  so  ?  "  turning 
to  the  others. 

There  was  a  cheerful  chorus,  "  Of  course 
we  will." 


ONLY  POTATOES  TO  EAT  155 

"  We  '11  pay  board  right  along,"  said  one, 
at  once  searching  his  pockets  for  money,  of 
which  he  drew  out  a  handful.  "  This  was  n't 
much  use  to  starving  and  freezing  people  last 
night,  but  it'll  come  in  handy  for  seed  pota- 
toes in  the  spring." 

Now  a  more  cheerful  air  pervaded  the  room ; 
the  prospect  of  potatoes  was  heartening. 

Taking  a  shovel,  Joe  started  out  to  open  his 
hoard  of  potatoes.  The  two  men  followed, 
and  taking  turns  at  the  frozen  earth,  they  suc- 
ceeded at  last  in  reaching  the  store,  which 
they  brought  into  the  house  to  keep  it  from 
freezing. 

Potatoes  !  Barbara  had  always  despised  this 
humble  vegetable,  never  touched  one  when 
she  could  help  it,  and  never  unless  it  had 
plenty  of  butter  or  cream ;  but  nothing  ever 
tasted  so  good  to  her  as  these  potatoes  roasted 
in  the  ashes  before  the  fire,  and  eaten  from 
their  own  skins  with  nothing  but  salt  on 
them. 

While  the  storm  raged  the  little  party  in 
the  log  cabin  passed  their  time  in  roasting 


potatoes,  keeping  up  a  good  fire,  and  taking 
turns  at  keeping  a  way  open  to  the  main  road 
where  they  could  see  when  a  stage  got  there. 

It  was  the  second  morning  that  the  sun 
came  out  clear  and  bright,  and  the  prisoners 
in  the  cabin  began  to  take  hope,  and  to  won- 
der what  had  become  of  the  stage  and  its 
passengers.  The  two  men,  with  Joe  for  guide, 
decided  to  make  their  way  back  to  Swift's 
tavern  to  take  the  first  stage  that  went 
through,  and  Joe  promised  to  bring  provisions 
to  make  his  three  guests  more  comfortable  till 
the  stage  road  was  fully  open. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Uncle  Karl  and 
Barbara  stayed  three  or  four  day  sin  that  little 
log  cabin  in  the  hills.  After  Joe  came  back 
with  other  things  to  eat  besides  potatoes,  with 
tin  plates  and  spoons  enough  to  go  around,  so 
that  they  could  have  meals  in  a  little  more 
civilized  way,  they  cheered  up  and  grew  very 
sociable. 

Joe  brought  in  some  boxes  for  seats,  and 
they  amused  themselves  telling  stories,  guess- 
ing conundrums,  —  of  which  Uncle  Karl  knew 


ONLY  POTATOES  TO   EAT  157 

dozens,  and  could  make  them  up  besides,  — and 
above  all,  looking  at  the  pictures  which  Uncle 
Karl's  ever-ready  hand  drew  all  over  the  walls 
of  the  cabin,  with  bits  of  charcoal  from  the  fire. 

On  the  fifth  day,  soon  after  noon,  the  wel- 
come sound  of  the  stage  horn  called  them  to 
the  main  road,  where  that  vehicle,  with  six 
horses  and  its  familiar  driver,  was  waiting  for 
them. 

Uncle  Karl,  having  given  Mrs.  Jansen  a 
goodly  roll  of  bills,  and  thanked  her  heartily 
besides,  started  off  after  Barbara,  when  the 
woman's  voice  recalled  him. 

"  Come  again !  Come  again !  I  shall  miss 
you  awfully." 

The  six  fresh  horses  drew  them  quickly  and 
safely  to  the  town  of  Milltown,  where  Uncle 
Karl  took  rooms  at  the  little  country  tavern, 
transacted  his  business,  and  made  ready  to  take 
the  stage  the  next  morning  for  home. 

They  found  Aunt  Betty  a  good  deal  worried 
by  their  long  absence,  and  the  reports  that  had 
reached  her  of  the  storm  in  the  hills.  But 
Uncle  Karl  assured  her  that  they  had  a  jolly 


158     WHAT   HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

time,  and  Barbara  declared  she  was  awfully 
glad  she  had  gone,  adding  repentantly,  "  And 
the  hood  was  comfortable,  Aunt  Betty." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Aunt  Betty, "  young  folks 
sometimes  find  out  that  old  folks  do  know 
something." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

BARBARA'S  BIRTHDAY 

BARBARA  had  now  been  several  months  at 
Uncle  Karl's  and  had  learned  to  accustom  her- 
self to  the  household  ways  of  her  aunt.  She 
could  make  a  bed  as  neatly  as  Mary  herself, 
and  she  had  trained  herself  to  keep  her  own 
things  in  the  house  always  in  order  —  never 
to  leave  anything  around,  and  above  all  to 
wage  constant  war  upon  the  flies.  Now  being 
winter,  however,  those  persistent  little  crea- 
tures had  lived  out  their  troublesome  short 
lives  and  disappeared,  so  that  more  light 
was  allowed  in  the  house,  though  the  blessed 
sun  was  as  carefully  shut  out  as  ever,  lest  his 
too  warm  rays  should  fade  the  carpets  and 
curtains. 

Living  so  much  in  the  studio,  Barbara 
found  it  easy  to  do  as  Aunt  Betty  wished  in 
the  house,  and,  finding  her  so  docile,  her  aunt 
had  come  to  be  very  fond  of  her,  —  a  regard 


160  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

which  was  mutual,  for  Aunt  Betty,  in  spite 
of  her  strenuous  housekeeping,  was  really 
a  kind-hearted  woman  with  many  admirable 
qualities. 

Soon  after  the  adventure  in  the  snow  Bar- 
bara's birthday  came  on.  She  had  not  men- 
tioned it,  for  she  did  not  want  to  seem  to  ask 
for  anything.  They  might  not  have  remem- 
bered it,  but  about  a  week  before  that  day 
Uncle  Karl  had  received  a  package  by  express 
from  home  to  be  given  to  Barbara  on  her 
birthday. 

He  said  nothing  to  Barbara  about  it,  but 
went  quietly  to  work  to  honor  the  day.  Bar- 
bara saw  that  some  mystery  was  on  foot,  for 
Uncle  Karl,  who  was  open  as  the  day  and 
never  had  any  secrets  to  keep,  was  so  myste- 
rious and  so  full  of  glee  over  something  that 
she  couldn't  help  noticing  it. 

Also  on  two  evenings  when  she  had  gone  to 
her  room  to  go  to  bed,  she  had  noticed  a  light 
in  the  studio  much  later  than  usual,  and  she 
wondered,  and  was  a  little  bit  hurt  that  Uncle 
Karl  did  not  tell  her  what  he  was  doing. 


BARBARA'S   BIRTHDAY  161 

At  last  the  morning  dawned,  and  Barbara's 
first  thought  as  she  woke  was  that  she  was  a 
year  older  than  yesterday,  and  with  the  new 
dignity  of  fifteen  upon  her  she  went  down  to 
breakfast. 

But  what  was  that  standing  beside  her 
plate?  A  small  figure  in  clay  —  a  model  of 
the  bear  of  the  sugar  camp  —  standing  up  like 
a  man  and  waving  his  arms  frantically  about 
his  head.  The  resemblance  was  perfect ;  Bar- 
bara recognized  it  at  once,  and  guessed  also  in 
the  same  instant  what  had  been  the  mystery 
with  Uncle  Karl. 

Upon  the  neck  of  that  dear  uncle  Barbara 
threw  herself,  kissing  him  and  calling  him 
the  dearest  uncle  in  the  world,  laughing,  and 
to  her  surprise  finding  a  few  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

Tears ;  not  because  she  was  unhappy  — 
far  from  it ;  but  the  thought  of  the  birthday 
brought  up  the  memory  of  home  and  the  dear 
ones,  and  though  not  homesick  —  well,  per- 
haps you  know  how  it  is  yourself  ! 

After  a  few  happy  tears,  Barbara  seated  her- 


162     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

self  at  the  table,  laughing  every  time  she 
looked  at  the  little  bear. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  and  Barbara  had 
put  her  room  in  the  order  that  Aunt  Betty 
loved,  she  went  to  the  studio  as  usual,  hugging 
her  bear  in  her  arms,  intending  to  put  him  on 
her  little  table  where  she  could  see  him  all 
day.  But  she  found  her  table  occupied,  —  a 
package,  tightly  tied,  with  glaring  express 
labels  on  it. 

"From  home!"  cried  Barbara  joyfully. 
"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl ! "  turning  to  her  dear  uncle, 
as  she  always  did,  in  joy  or  sorrow.  "When 
did  it  come?" 

"  A  few  days  ago,  girlie,"  he  said. 

"  And  that 's  what  made  you  so  queer  !  " 
said  she. 

"Yes;  I  never  could  keep  a  secret,"  said 
Uncle  Karl,  "  especially  a  pleasant  one.  Shall 
I  cut  the  string?" 

"  Yes,  please,"  said  Barbara,  placing  her 
bear  tenderly  on  the  window-sill. 

When  the  string  was  cut  and  the  wrappings 
taken  off,  there  appeared  a  box  on  top  of 


BARBARA'S  BIRTHDAY  163 

which  lay  a  card  with  "  Many  happy  returns  " 
painted  on  it  in  gay  colors. 

Hastily  Barbara  lifted  the  cover ;  the  box 
appeared  full  of  packages,  each  tied  up  with  rib- 
bon and  bearing  a  card.  She  took  up  a  pack- 
age and  read  the  card,  "  From  your  loving 
friend  May." 

"Oh,  that's  from  May,"  cried  Barbara  ex- 
citedly. "  I  wonder  what  it  is  ?  "  She  hastily 
removed  the  wrapping  and  brought  to  light  a 
dainty  embroidered  silk  bag  and  a  loving  note 
which  she  laid  aside  to  read  later. 

Next  came  another  package,  a  little  larger, 
with  the  card  of  another  school  friend,  and 
another  note.  So  it  went  on ;  the  box  was 
filled  with  gifts  from  school  friends  and  from 
home  —  each  with  a  note  or  letter.  As  she 
got  farther  down  in  the  box  she  found  books 
and  bigger  things,  and  when  the  last  article 
was  opened  the  table  and  her  chair  were  full 
and  running  over,  with  books  and  many  pretty 
things,  and  Barbara  sank  into  a  chair,  very 
still. 

She  had  begun  very  lively  and  gay,  but  as 


164     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

the  loving  messages  multiplied  they  brought 
home  and  dear  friends  so  strongly  before  her 
that  she  found  herself  —  though  very  happy 
—  very  quiet. 

Uncle  Karl  understood;  he  always  did  un- 
derstand, that  was  what  made  him  so  dear. 
He  broke  in  cheerfully  :  — 

"Now,  girlie,  what,  a  time  you'll  have 
answering  all  these  letters !  Want  me  to  help 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara,  brightening  up,  for 
Uncle  Karl's  horror  of  letter-writing  was  well 
known.  He  would  paint  you  a  picture  or  make 
a  sketch  with  delight  —  the  brush  was  his 
right  hand ;  but  the  pen  was  a  serious  mat- 
ter to  him.  Once  —  long  ago  —  when  Bar- 
bara's mother  was  away  from  home  and  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  of  the  death  of  a  pet  bird, 
he  took  a  card  and  sketched  the  whole  story. 
There  on  the  floor  lay  the  bird  on  its  back 
with  legs  in  the  air  saying  "  dead  "  as  plain  as 
words.  One  side  stood  Maggie,  the  fat  cook, 
with  hands  raised  in  horror.  There  was  the 
mother  anxiously  bending  over  the  dead  pet, 


BARBARA'S  BIRTHDAY  165 

and  beside  it,  crouched  on  the  floor  and  rain- 
ing tears  which  flooded  the  carpet,  was  Cousin 
Julia  —  whose  pet  it  was.  The  likenesses 
were  so  good  that  they  were  recognized  at 
once  and  the  whole  story  plain  without  a  word. 
At  the  bottom  was  only  the  date ;  there  was 
no  need  of  signature,  no  one  but  Uncle  Karl 
could  do  it. 

Barbara  remembered  this  story  which  her 
mother  had  told  her,  and  it  brought  a  hearty 
laugh  which  relieved  the  desire  to  cry. 

Over  her  books,  which  Barbara  now  began 
to  look  at,  she  was  in  raptures.  Nothing  could 
please  her  so  well  as  books ;  she  fairly  hugged 
them  in  her  delight,  reading  their  titles  and 
the  gift  inscriptions,  filled  very  full  of  happi- 
ness. 

"Oh,"  she  sighed  at  last,  fairly  weary  with 
delight,  "  Uncle  Karl,  how  lovely  people  are ! 
how  I  shall  love  these  books !  And  my  dear 
little  bear,  too !  he 's  too  cute  for  anything ! 
It 's  exactly  like  him,  poor  fellow !  I  wonder 
if  he  did  get  that  horrid  wax  off  before  he 
killed  himself ! " 


166     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Oh,  no  doubt  he  did,"  said  Uncle  Karl. 
"  Wax  is  terribly  sticky,  but  it  does  n't  last 
very  long." 

"  Oh !  I  hope  he  got  safely  off !  but  was  n't 
he  funny !  "  And  both  had  another  good  laugh 
over  his  antics. 

That  was  a  happy  day  for  Barbara,  and  it 
was  not  yet  over.  When  they  went  to  supper 
she  found  another  surprise.  This  was  Aunt 
Betty's, —  a  fine  big  birthday  cake  with  fifteen 
wax  candles  burning  around  the  edge;  and 
Mary,  not  to  be  left  out,  presented  a  plate 
piled  up  with  molasses  candies  —  beautiful 
white  sticks  that  made  one's  mouth  water  to 
look  at,  and  of  which  Barbara  was  very  fond. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  CHILDREN'S  SYMPHONY 

AFTER  supper,  when  Barbara  had  cut  her 
birthday  cake,  and  offered  her  candy  to  Aunt 
Betty,  who  declined, —  she  never  ate  sweets,  — 
and  to  Uncle  Karl,  who  was  fond  of  them  as 
any  schoolgirl,  and  helped  her  enjoy  them, 
about  half-past  seven  o'clock  Uncle  Karl  said : 

"  We  're  invited  out  this  evening." 

"Why,  where?"  cried  Barbara;  for  in  this 
little  town  social  doings  were  almost  unknown. 

"To  the  house  of  Mr.  Wallace,  a  Danish 
gentleman  who  has  not  been  here  very  long, 
but  is  a  charming  old  gentleman  with  snow- 
white  hair  and  beautiful  face.  He  always  re- 
minds me  of  his  great  countryman,  Hans  An- 
dersen — though  he  does  n't  look  at  all  like  the 
pictures  of  the  famous  story-teller." 

"  If  he  can  tell  stories  like  Hans  Andersen," 
said  Barbara  with  enthusiasm,  "I  shall  like 
him  ;  I  love  those  stories  !  " 


168     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  So  do  I,  girlie  !  "  said  Uncle  Karl  warmly. 

"  Shall  I  change  my  dress,  Aunt  Betty  ?  " 
asked  Barbara,  hesitating.  "  Had  n't  I  better 
put  on  my  blue  merino  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  "  said  Aunt  Betty.  "  It  is  n't  a 
formal  affair ;  your  dress  is  all  right." 

"Won't  you  go  too,  wife?"  asked  Uncle 
Karl. 

"  No ;  I  have  some  sewing  I  want  to  do," 
said  Aunt  Betty. 

They  were  soon  off,  and  five  minutes'  walk 
brought  them  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Wallace. 
It  was  not  a  large  house,  and  there  were  not 
many  guests,  perhaps  a  dozen  of  the  neigh- 
bors, but  the  orchestra  was  a  rather  large  one 
for  the  place,  and  their  instruments  were  — 
some  of  them  —  very  droll. 

Of  the  usual  sort  of  instruments  there  were 
a  piano,  three  violins,  and  a  violoncello.  These 
were  played  by  grown-ups.  But  besides  these 
there  were  ten  or  twelve  toy  instruments  in 
the  hands  of  younger  players  —  children,  in 
fact. 

Some  of  these  youngsters   had  small  tin 


THE  CHILDREN'S  SYMPHONY         169 

horns,  such  as  boys  nowadays  delight  to  tor- 
ture the  air  with ;  fifes  there  were,  triangles 
and  tambourines,  and,  to  the  delight  of  the  small 
boy  behind  it,  a  drum  with  real  drumsticks 
which  he  fairly  ached  to  use.  Besides  these 
there  was  a  "  cuckoo  toy,"  which  shouted  that 
word  as  enthusiastically  as  a  brand-new  cuckoo 
clock,  a  loud  rattle  in  the  hands  of  a  stout 
youngster  who  looked  quite  equal  to  deafen- 
ing the  audience  with  it,  and  lastly  —  a  glass 
bird-call,  which,  on  being  half  filled  with  water 
and  well  blown,  can  be  made  to  imitate  bird 
notes  very  well. 

Barbara  was  invited  to  take  an  instrument, 
but  as  she  had  n't  practiced  with  the  "  band  " 
and  had  no  idea  what  they  were  going  to  do, 
she  preferred  to  listen;  but  Uncle  Karl  ac- 
cepted the  responsibility  of  the  "cuckoo,"  and 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  like  a  boy. 

When  all  was  ready  the  host  rose,  his  tall, 
graceful  figure  clad  in  black  velvet,  which  was 
more  grand  than  had  ever  been  seen  in  that 
little  Western  town,  and  began  —  in  his  brokeu 
English,  and  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  ro- 


170     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA* 

mance-loving  Dane  —  to  explain  the  "  Kinder 
Symphonic,"  or  in  English  "  Children's  Sym- 
phony." 

He  said :  "  My  friends,  in  going  to  hear  a 
grand  symphony  you  generally  have  some 
printed  programme  telling  what  is  meant  by 
the  music,  — what  every  movement  tries  to  say 
to  you ;  and  perhaps  you  may  think  it  a  little 
profane  to  have  such  a  solemn  and  grand  thing 
as  a  symphony  performed  on  toy  instruments. 
But  it  is  not  so ;  the  children,  as  well  as  we, 
have  a  world  of  their  own,  a  world  of  fairy 
tales  and  plays,  of  Christmas  festivals  and  toys, 
and  it  is  fitting  that  this  child-world  should 
be  represented  in  music. 

"  Now  in  this  which  we  shall  give,  you  will 
find  a  child's  story.  We  do  not  know  what 
the  author  had  in  mind  when  he  wrote  it,  but 
let  us  see  what  it  says  to  us,  and  let  us  begin 
in  the  good  old-fashioned  way:  — 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  contention 
between  the  Rattle  and  the  Nightingale  as  to 
which  could  make  the  most  noise.  All  the 
birds  and  animals  had  something  to  say  about 


THE  CHILDREN'S   SYMPHONY        171 

it,  and  the  discussion  grew  louder  and  louder, 
till  all  was  confusion  and  noise,  and  nobody 
could  be  heard.  This  you  will  hear  in  the 
music. 

"  Despairing  of  coming  to  any  decision,  they 
decided  to  go  to  Leo,  the  king  of  beasts ;  so 
they  started  on  a  lively  march  which  may  re- 
present this  walk  through  the  forest. 

"  Leo  is  very  cross  and  growly  and  does  n't 
like  to  be  disturbed,  and  when  the  case  is  laid 
before  him  he  does  n't  know  what  to  say,  so 
he,  — like  many  other  tyrants,  —  to  get  rid  of 
bother,  says  gruffly  :  'Let  the  Rattle  and  the 
Nightingale  both  be  hanged.'  Then  every- 
thing is  sad;  a  great  wail  arises  and  sweeps 
all  through  the  forest ;  and  this  too  you  shall 
hear  in  the  music. 

"  But  after  a  while  they  resolve  to  try  to 
coax  Leo  ;  so  they  all  put  on  their  most  fas- 
cinating manners,  and  go  dancing  and  tip- 
toeing through  the  woods  —  which  you  will 
hear  in  the  dancing,  light-tripping  air. 

"  They  come  to  Leo  and  they  coax  him ; 
they  sing  their  sweetest  and  look  their  pretti- 


172     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

est,  and  so  finally  Leo  gets  softened  and  con- 
signs the  Rattle  to  a  very  warm  place,  and 
places  him  in  the  tail  of  a  serpent  who  is 
henceforth  called  the  rattlesnake ;  while  the 
Nightingale  goes  up  North  and  delights  all 
the  world  with  his  song. 

"  Now  listen  and  see  if  you  do  not  hear  all 
this  in  the  music." 

He  then  turned  to  his  orchestra,  waving 
his  baton,  and  they  began. 

Such  queer  sounds !  the  harsh  Rattle  and 
the  sweet  Nightingale  high  above  all ;  the 
roar  of  the  lion  (the  rolling  drum) ;  the 
screaming  of  the  fifes ;  and  now  and  then  the 
calm  "  Cuckoo  !  Cuckoo  !  "  louder  than  all. 

Such  a  funny  medley  as  it  was,  and  the  per- 
formers funnier  still !  Such  frantic  efforts  of 
the  small  players  each  to  have  his  part  heard ; 
such  cheeks  puffed  out  over  the  horns  ;  such 
mad  shaking  of  the  tambourine  and  beating  of 
triangles !  and  louder  and  more  savage  than 
all,  the  terrific  clatter  of  the  Rattle  into 
which  broke  often  and  loud  the  droll  call 
"  Cuckoo  !  Cuckoo ! "  But  not  all  the  crash- 


THE  CHILDREN'S   SYMPHONY        173 

ing  and  banging  could  drown  the  sweet  notes 
of  the  bird-call  rising  high  above  everything. 

The  small  but  appreciative  audience  laughed 
till  they  were  tired,  but  they  could  see  that  the 
music  had  really  told  the  story  they  had  heard. 

After  shaking  hands  warmly  with  the  grand 
old  Dane  and  thanking  him  heartily  for  the 
pleasure  he  had  given  them,  Uncle  Karl  and 
Barbara  went  home ;  and  so  ended  a  very 
happy  birthday. 


CHAPTER  XVin 

CONFIDENCES 

BARBARA  was  very  happy  in  her  life  in  the 
studio,  and  after  she  had  learned  to  appreciate 
and  like  Aunt  Betty,  nothing  seemed  wanting 
to  her  perfect  content. 

But  back  of  all  this  was  memory ;  the  re- 
collection of  her  unhappy  home,  —  of  Janet's 
exasperating  ways,  and  her  own  mother's  pre- 
ference for  Janet.  Little  things  Janet  had  said 
and  done  would  come  back  to  her,  and  dread 
of  going  all  over  it  again  checked  the  long- 
ing she  often  felt  for  home  and  friends. 

When  she  was  not  with  Uncle  Karl  she 
would  often  brood  over  this  trouble,  and  some- 
times even  in  the  studio,  when  Uncle  Karl  was 
absorbed  in  his  work,  she  would  fall  into  a 
reverie,  and  Uncle  Karl  looking  up  suddenly 
would  see  her  sitting  silent,  doing  nothing, 
staring  straight  ahead  with  musing  eyes,  ap- 
parently oblivious  to  everything  around  her. 


CONFIDENCES  175 

This  troubled  him  greatly,  and  he  longed  to 
help  her  someway. 

Not  far  from  the  house  was  a  piece  of 
woods,  the  heart's  delight  of  Barbara,  who, 
as  soon  as  the  weather  grew  at  all  springlike, 
spent  many  hours  there.  Uncle  Karl  —  who 
was  as  fond  of  it  as  Barbara  —  had  made  a 
rustic  seat  just  big  enough  for  two,  between 
two  fine  old  trees,  hemmed  in  by  so  many 
others  that  it  was  almost  as  hidden  from  sight 
as  though  it  were  enclosed  by  walls. 

To  this  delightful  spot  Barbara  loved  to 
take  a  favorite  book  and  spend  hours  reading 
and  enjoying  the  sweet  freshness  of  the  woods 
at  the  same  time.  Here  too  Uncle  Karl  liked 
to  come  when  he  was  not  too  busy  in  the 
studio,  and  when  he  did  so  Barbara's  hap- 
piness was  perfect. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Karl ! "  said  she  warmly,  one 
day  when  they  were  enjoying  their  retreat  to- 
gether. "  How  I  love  this  beautiful  place  ! " 

Uncle  Karl  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  Girlie," 
he  said  suddenly,  "  I  have  often  wondered  why 
you  are  happier  here  in  this  little  backwoods 


176     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

place  with  no  companion  but  your  stupid  old 
uncle  than  you  are  at  home  surrounded  by 
friends  of  your  own  age,  and  the  beloved 
only  daughter  of  the  house." 

Barbara  was  silent,  but  on  her  bright  face 
fell  the  shadow  Uncle  Karl  had  seen  on  it  at 
home. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me,  girlie  ?  "  he  said  ten- 
derly. "  I  'm  a  good  deal  older  than  you,  and 
perhaps  I  could  help  you.  You  know  you  are 
the  only  daughter  of  my  heart;  dearie,  tell 
me  the  truth." 

Barbara  hesitated,  and  sudden  tears  filled 
her  eyes.  It  was  hard  for  her  to  speak  of  her 
secret  grief,  but  Uncle  Karl  was  —  well,  he 
was  Uncle  Karl,  and  no  more  need  be  said. 

"  It  was  n't  altogether  that  miserable  school 
affair  that  made  you  sick,  girlie,"  he  went  on 
gently ;  "  there  was  something  back  of  that, 
I  'm  sure.  I  saw  it  in  your  face ;  I  see  it  now 
when  I  speak  of  your  home.  It's  a  serious 
trouble ;  let  me  help  you." 

Barbara  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  with 
heavy  sobs  that  made  it  impossible  to  speak, 


CONFIDENCES  177 

while  Uncle  Karl  gently  stroked  her  hair  and 
said  soothingly:  — 

"There  —  there  —  girlie!  don't  cry  so  — 
you  wring  my  heart." 

Soon  as  she  could  speak,  it  all  came  out  in 
one  burst :  "  My  mother  does  n't  love  me  — 
nobody  does  —  they  all  love  Janet  —  they  be- 
lieve her  and  they  don't  believe  me.  Uncle 
Karl,  I  want  to  stay  with  you  always !  " 

"  Girlie  —  girlie,"  cried  Uncle  Karl  in  hor- 
ror, "  you  're  all  wrong !  What  has  made  you 
think  so  !  Your  mother  loves  you  above  every- 
thing on  earth  ;  I  know  it !" 

"  Oh,  no,"  sobbed  Barbara,  "  you  don't 
know." 

By  close  questioning  Uncle  Karl  got  the 
whole  story;  all  the  little  things  over  which 
Barbara  had  brooded  till  they  made  the  world 
black  to  her,  and  he  understood,  for  he  knew 
his  gentle,  peace-loving  sister  —  Barbara's 
mother  —  well  enough  to  see  how,  in  her 
anxiety  to  make  the  widow  and  orphan  happy, 
she  had  not  thought  how  it  would  appear  to 
her  daughter. 


178     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Though  not  more  than  half  convinced  by 
Uncle  Karl's  warm  defense  of  her  mother, 
Barbara  was  somehow  comforted. 

That  night,  after  she  was  in  bed,  Uncle 
Karl  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Barbara's  mother, 
not  a  picture  letter  as  usual,  but  a  true  account 
of  what  was  in  Barbara's  heart,  that  had  made 
her  so  unhappy,  and  had  so  grieved  her  mother 
when  she  was  at  home. 

Barbara's  mother  was  much  shocked,  but 
she  could  not  realize  Barbara's  depth  of  feel- 
ing, and  there  before  her  was  Janet's  mother, 
with  her  sad  face,  always  speaking  of  her  fa- 
therless child  and  looking  sharply  for  slights  to 
her ;  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  one  of  her 
peace-loving  temperament  to  make  a  sudden 
change.  But  she  thought  of  it  constantly,  and 
gradually  plans  were  made  to  provide  another 
home  for  the  aunt  and  cousin  whose  presence 
had  so  unhappy  an  effect  on  her  own  daughter. 

The  arrangements  were  made,  but  could 
not  be  carried  out  until  the  fall,  and  there 
would  be  a  few  more  months  of  Janet  to  en- 
dure, for  Barbara  must  go  home  in  the  spring. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BARBARA  HIRES  OUT 

IN  the  spring,  therefore,  Barbara  went  home, 
quite  well  and  strong,  and  happy  to  get  back, 
for,  although  she  loved  Uncle  Karl  best  of 
everybody  in  the  world,  she  did  love  her  par- 
ents and  her  young  friends. 

She  had  passed  a  very  profitable  winter, 
having  improved  a  good  deal  in  her  drawing, 
and  progressed  wonderfully  in  her  studies, 
under  the  careful  instruction  of  her  devoted 
uncle,  who  gave  most  of  his  evenings  to  this 
labor  of  love. 

But  she  found  that  during  her  absence 
Janet  had  more  and  more  absorbed  the  atten- 
tions of  her  mother,  and  she  seemed  now  even 
to  take  Barbara's  place  in  the  house.  It  was 
intolerable  to  Barbara,  and  she  felt  that  she 
could  not  endure  it.  Her  journey  and  her  long 
absence  from  home  had  given  her  a  little 
more  confidence  in  herself,  and  she  began  to 


180     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

look  cautiously  about  for  some  way  of  escape 
from  the  daily  annoyance  of  Janet's  presence. 

At  last  she  made  up  her  mind  to  hire  her- 
self out  as  a  child's  nurse. 

She  considered  many  plans  before  she  came 
to  this  decision.  At  first  she  planned  to  run 
away  to  another  town  and  support  herself  by 
writing ;  but,  having  secretly  made  a  few 
attempts  and  found  that  nobody  wanted  her 
work,  —  quite  unlike  the  story  books  in  which 
the  young  writer  is  generally  welcomed  with 
effusion  and  asked  for  more,  —  she  had  the 
sense  to  see  that  she  might  starve  before  she 
succeeded  in  earning  her  living. 

Nothing  that  she  could  think  of  was  feas- 
ible except  the  one  plan  of  going  out  as  a 
servant,  and  so  wretched  had  she  become  in 
her  home  that  at  last  she  resolved  to  do  it. 

Learning  that  a  new  family  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  town  was  looking  for  a  girl  to  take 
care  of  a  child,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
begin  with  them.  So  one  morning,  telling  her 
mother  she  was  going  to  see  Ellen  Harbeck  — 
an  intimate  friend  —  she  started  out. 


BARBARA  HIRES  OUT  181 

"I  shall  never  see  my  home  again,"  was 
the  bitter  thought  that  filled  her  heart  as  she 
closed  the  door  behind  her.  "  Nor  that  hate- 
ful Janet !  "  was  the  next  thought,  that  turned 
her  mood  from  sorrow  to  anger.  "  Now  they 
can  do  everything  for  her;  I  shall  never 
trouble  them  again,"  and  with  these  wretched 
thoughts  she  hurried  on. 

She  first  went  to  her  friend's  house,  for  she 
was  a  truthful  girl ;  but  Ellen  was  not  at 
home,  so  she  did  not  stay  a  minute,  but  passed 
on. 

When  she  reached  the  house  of  the  stran- 
gers she  went  boldly  up  to  the  kitchen  door 
and  knocked. 

A  tired-looking  woman  with  a  two-year- 
old  child  hanging  to  her  skirts  came  to  the 
door. 

"  I  heard,"  stammered  Barbara,  "  that  you 
want  to  hire  a  nurse-girl." 

"  Indeed  I  do  !  "  said  the  lady  eagerly ;  "  do 
you  know  of  any  one  I  could  get  ?  " 

"  Would  you  take  me  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  You?  "  said  the  lady,  for  she  saw  at  once 


182     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

that  Barbara  was  not  the  sort  who  usually 
apply  for  situations. 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara  shortly,  turning  as  if 
to  go ;  "  but  perhaps  I  would  n't  do  ! " 

"  Wait ! "  cried  the  lady.  "  I  'm  sure  you  '11 
do  if  you  want  the  place;  have  you  ever 
worked  out?" 

"  No,"  said  Barbara  shortly,  wishing  with 
all  her  heart  she  had  not  come. 

"  But  you  Ve  taken  care  of  children,  per- 
haps," cried  the  lady,  looking  very  sharply  at 
her. 

"  No,"  said  Barbara,  again  turning  away. 

"  Well  —  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  said 
the  lady,  who  saw  that  this  was  an  unusual 
case,  and  wanted  to  understand  it.  "  I  '11  take 
you  on  trial,"  she  said  hastily.  "  Come  right 
in." 

Half  inclined  to  take  to  her  heels  and  run, 
Barbara  slowly  followed  her  into  the  house. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  have  not  been 
able  to  get  help,  and  my  baby  here,"  turn- 
ing to  the  fretting  boy  still  clinging  to  her 
and  looking  at  Barbara  with  half-frightened 


BARBARA  HIRES  OUT  183 

eyes,  "  my  baby  is  getting  his  teeth  and  wants 
a  good  deal  of  care.  What  I  should  want  you 
to  do  would  be  to  amuse  him  and  keep  him 
quiet  and  help  me  what  you  could  when  he  is 
asleep.  I  think  you  can  do  it,  and  anyway  I  '11 
try  you  for  a  week.  You  can  go  right  up  the 
back  stairs  and  take  off  your  things ;  you  '11 
find  your  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs." 

Slowly  Barbara  climbed  the  narrow,  steep 
stairs  to  a  little  attic  room  over  the  kitchen. 
It  was  low  and  small,  with  one  half-window, 
a  cot,  and  a  chair,  a  few  hooks  on  the  wall  — 
and  nothing  else  ;  not  even  a  strip  of  carpet 
on  the  floor,  nor  a  curtain  to  the  window  ;  nei- 
ther washstand  nor  table  of  any  kind.  She 
stood  amazed,  for  her  mother  had  always  fur- 
nished her  maid's  quarters  as  comfortably  as 
any  in  the  house. 

A  thought  of  her  own  dainty  room  gave  her 
a  sharp  pang  ;  its  pretty  blue  carpet  and  cur- 
tains, its  dressing-table,  its  shelf  for  books ; 
but  another  thought  followed  instantly  — 
"  They  '11  give  it  to  Janet  now  " —  which 
hardened  her  heart  again,  and  she  went  down. 


184     WHAT   HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

I  cannot  give  the  whole  history  of  that  day, 
for  Barbara  could  never  recall  it  all.  It  is 
enough  to  say  that  she  coaxed  the  boy  to  go 
into  the  yard  with  her,  and  succeeded  in  keep- 
ing him  tolerably  still  by  the  hardest  work  she 
had  ever  known,  and  when  at  last  —  worn  out 
—  he  dropped  asleep  and  she  laid  him  on  the 
bed,  almost  ready  to  drop  herself,  she  found 
her  new  mistress  ready  with  further  tasks  for 
her. 

There  was  a  sink  full  of  dishes  to  be  washed, 
the  kitchen  to  be  swept,  and  dinner  to  be  got. 

And  when  the  lady  had  eaten  her  dinner 
alone  and  told  Barbara  to  sit  down  at  the 
mussed  table,  with  its  dirty  dishes  and  cold 
food,  and  eat  her  dinner,  she  had  to  swallow 
very  fast  and  brace  herself  with  thoughts  of 
Janet,  before  she  could  do  it,  and  even  then 
she  could  not  eat. 

The  lady  was  watching  her  closely  and  noted 
all  this,  but  said  nothing,  and  when  she  left 
the  table,  told  her  to  wash  the  dishes. 

These  tasks  were  most  hateful  to  Barbara. 
She  had  not  dreamed  of  anything  but  taking 


BARBARA  HIRES  OUT  185 

care  of  a  child ;  and  all  that  long  day  they  grew 
more  and  more  distasteful  to  her,  and  when- 
ever she  thought  of  that  dismal  attic  room  her 
very  soul  revolted.  At  last  towards  night  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  stand  it  any  longer,  and 
got  courage  to  say  :  — 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  suit  you,  Mrs.  Smith, 
and  I  guess  I  '11  go." 

But  Mrs.  Smith,  though  she  did  not  really 
expect  to  keep  her,  wanted  to  find  out  who 
she  was,  and  what  was  the  reason  of  her  run- 
ning away  from  home,  —  for  she  readily  un- 
derstood that  such  was  the  case,  —  and  would 
not  let  her  go. 

When  it  grew  dark  Mr.  Smith  came  home, 
and  he  and  his  wife  went  into  another  room 
and  talked  in  low  tones,  and  Barbara  knew 
they  were  talking  about  her ;  and  while  she 
walked  the  kitchen  with  the  fretful  child,  try- 
ing to  get  him  to  sleep,  she  caught  now  and 
then  a  word  which  showed  her  that  they 
meant  to  find  out  who  she  was,  and,  she 
thought  probably,  tell  her  family  about  her. 

This  belief  was  helped  by  the  fact  that  Mr. 


186     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Smith  looked  at  her  so  sharply,  and  asked  her 
so  many  questions,  and  when  she  declared  she 
would  give  up  the  place,  he  would  not  con- 
sent, but  insisted  upon  her  staying  out  the 
week  for  which  she  had  hired.  When  she 
persisted,  he  even  threatened  that  he  could 
have  her  arrested  for  "  breach  of  contract." 

Barbara  did  not  know  what  that  was,  but 
it  sounded  legal,  and  she  began  to  be  afraid 
of  the  man  and  terrified  at  the  position  in 
which  she  found  herself. 

As  soon  as  the  supper  dishes  were  washed 
and  she  could  get  away,  she  went  up  to  the 
little  attic  room  and  threw  herself  on  the  bed, 
very  tired  from  her  hard  day's  work,  but  wide 
awake  to  plan  her  escape;  for  she  could  not 
stand  it  another  minute,  with  that  man  hunt- 
ing up  her  family  and  covering  her  with 
shame. 

Bitterly  she  regretted  her  wild  adventure, 
and  thought  if  she  could  once  get  safely 
home  she  would  never  —  never  —  leave  it 
again.  But  how  to  get  home  without  that 
man  finding  out — that  was  the  puzzle  now. 


BARBARA  HIRES  OUT  187 

She  heard  them  going  about  downstairs, 
locking  the  doors,  and  at  last  all  was  quiet. 
Now  perhaps  she  could  steal  down  and  get 
away;  but  it  was  a  long  way  home,  and  she 
was  afraid  to  go  alone  at  night,  and  besides, 
her  mother  would  think  she  had  stayed  all 
night  with  Ellen,  as  she  sometimes  did,  and 
the  house  would  be  locked  up,  too. 

So  she  determined  to  wait  till  morning  — 
as  soon  as  it  was  light  and  before  they  got 
up.  She  dared  not  go  to  sleep  for  fear  she 
should  not  wake  in  time.  Keeping  awake  was 
even  harder  than  the  day's  work  had  been, 
but  she  got  off  the  bed  and  sat  on  the  hard 
kitchen  chair  to  keep  herself  from  sleeping. 

Never  was  a  night  so  long,  though  she  did 
sleep  a  little  even  sitting  up  ;•  never  was  day- 
light so  slow  in  coming,  and  all  through 
those  long  hours,  except  the  few  minutes  that 
she  dozed  off,  Barbara  was  thinking. 

How  foolish  her  own  conduct  seemed !  How 
crazy  the  notion  that  she  could  carry  out  this 
scheme!  Of  course  her  parents  would  hunt 
her  up,  and  she  would  be  disgraced.  How 


188     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

silly — in  that  bitter  hour — looked  her  re- 
sentment against  Janet !  In  a  word,  what  a 
fool  she  had  been!  If  she  could  only  get 
safely  away ! 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  SECRET  HIDING-PLACE 

As  soon  as  it  was  fairly  light  Barbara  slipped 
off  her  shoes  and  stole  down  the  stairs.  As 
she  feared,  she  found  the  kitchen  door  locked 
and  the  key  gone — they  had  meant  to  keep 
her !  But  she  had  thought  of  that,  and  re- 
membered that  the  windows  were  not  very 
high  from  the  ground,  and  she  had  particu- 
larly noticed  that  one  was  above  a  flower-bed 
into  which  she  dared  drop. 

Raising  the  window  inch  by  inch  with 
greatest  care  to  make  no  sound,  Barbara  at 
last  got  it  high  enough  to  get  up  on  the  sill 
and  drop  out.  As  she  touched  the  ground 
she  remembered  her  shoes  left  on  the  floor, 
but  she  could  not  get  back,  nor  would  such 
a  small  thing  as  shoes  tempt  her  to  go  into 
that  house  again  if  she  could. 

She  left  the  yard  quietly,  and  then  started 
on  a  wild  run  through  the  still  silent  streets, 


fearing  that  she  might  be  pursued,  and  look- 
ing back  every  minute  to  see  if  Mr.  Smith 
were  in  sight. 

After  she  had  turned  a  corner  she  felt  a 
little  safer,  and  then  she  realized  that  this 
pace  would  arouse  suspicion  if  any  one  met 
her,  and  being  without  shoes  would  be  still 
more  suspicious ;  so  she  forced  herself  to  walk. 

She  was  niost  disturbed  by  her  stockings, 
which,  of  course,  in  those  days,  were  white,  and, 
in  her  short  dress,  very  conspicuous.  Then 
she  stopped  and  pulled  them  off.  "They'll 
think  I  always  go  barefooted,"  she  thought ; 
but  the  whiteness  of  her  feet  struck  her,  and 
she  was  afraid  that  would  be  noticed.  So  the 
first  muddy  place  on  the  street  that  she  came 
to,  she  walked  into  it  and  soon  reduced  her  feet 
to  a  condition  that  she  was  sure  would  stamp 
her  as  a  regular  barefoot. 

She  reached  home  breathless  and  very  tired, 
just  as  Bridget  was  opening  the  door;  and, hid- 
ing behind  a  lilac-bush  till  she  had  gone  into 
the  woodshed  for  wood  to  start  the  fire,  Barbara 
—  first  wiping  her  feet  on  the  grass  —  slipped 


THE  SECRET  HIDING-PLACE         191 

quietly  into  the  kitchen,  up  the  back  stairs, 
and  reached  her  own  room  without  being  seen. 

Oh,  what  a  relief  she  felt  when  —  after  a 
good  bath  to  her  feet — she  flung  herself  on  to 
her  own  little  white  bed  and  burst  into  tears 
—  half  happy  and  half  still  fearful,  for  she 
was  sure  that  man  would  try  to  find  her  and 
arrest  her  as  he  had  said. 

At  present,  at  any  rate,  she  was  safe,  and 
hastily  undressing  she  went  to  bed. 

At  breakfast-time  her  mother  came  to  the 
door  and  opened  it. 

"  Why,  Barbara,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  you 
stayed  with  Ellen  all  night ;  I  did  n't  see  you 
come  in." 

"  I  was  tired,"  said  Barbara  drowsily,  "  and 
I  came  right  up  to  bed,"  -  thankful  that  she 
did  not  have  to  explain. 

"  Well ;  if  you  're  still  sleepy,"  said  her 
mother,  who  noticed  her  tone,  "  you  may  lie 
awhile  ;  I  '11  save  your  breakfast  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Barbara  sleepily,  turn- 
ing over  for  a  fresh  nap. 

It  was  late  when  at  last  she  got  up  and 


192     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

went  downstairs,  but  she  had  made  her  plan 
to  avoid  that  man. 

The  house  Barbara  lived  in  was  an  old-fash- 
ioned one.  Over  the  front  door  was  a  little 
porch,  and  above  it  a  roof.  Now  this  roof 
was  at  the  end  of  the  upstairs  hall  which  ran 
through  the  house,  and  long  ago,  when  Bar- 
bara was  small,  she  had  discovered  that  behind 
a  lounge  which  always  stood  across  that  end, 
there  was  an  opening  into  this  porch  roof. 
The  lounge  was  probably  kept  there  for  the 
purpose  of  hiding  the  opening,  which  was,  to 
be  sure,  not  very  ornamental. 

Without  saying  anything  to  any  one,  Bar- 
bara in  her  silent  ways  had  often  slipped  into 
this  place  which  no  one  seemed  to  know  about. 
It  was  not  very  light  or  she  would  have  loved 
to  have  it  for  a  hiding-place  in  which  to  read 
and  not  be  discovered  ;  such  a  retreat  as  she 
found  in  the  haymow.  But  now  it  occurred 
to  her  as  a  place  where  she  could  hide  if  that 
man  came  to  the  house  to  find  her. 

So  she  went  quietly  to  work  to  make  it 
habitable. 


THE  SECRET  HIDING-PLACE         193 

Taking  the  time  -when  she  knew  her  mother 
and  her  aunt  were  busy  in  the  back  part  of 
the  house,  and  Janet  had  gone  to  walk,  Bar- 
bara brushed  out  the  little  place,  full  of  dust 
and  spider  webs,  as  well  as  she  could,  and 
carried  a  strip  of  old  carpet  from  the  attic 
to  lie  on — for  it  was  too  low  to  sit  up  in  a 
chair. 

She  then  went  to  her  father's  tool  box  and 
got  a  gimlet,  with  which  she  bored  a  hole 
through  the  floor  of  her  den  so  that  she  could 
look  into  the  porch  below  and  see  any  one  who 
came  to  the  door. 

Her  plan  was,  whenever  she  heard  the  door- 
bell ring,  to  hide  in  there,  and  see  if  the  guest 
was  the  man  she  feared,  for  she  thought  he 
would  go  ah"  over  the  town  and  try  to  find  her. 
She  planned  to  bring  up  there  some  food,  so 
that  if  he  came  and  insisted  on  waiting  to  see 
her,  she  could  stay  in  there  all  day  if  she  had 
to. 

All  this  she  carried  out;  she  furnished 
her  hiding-place  with  fruit  and  cakes,  when- 
ever she  could  take  them  without  being  no- 


194     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

ticed,  and  often  and  often,  for  the  first  week  or 
two,  at  the  sound  of  the  doorbell  she  scram- 
bled into  her  den,  and  watched  and  waited  for 
the  enemy. 

If  that  place  had  only  been  lighter  it  would 
have  been  the  joy  of  her  life,  for  the  posses- 
sion of  such  a  secret  retreat  that  absolutely 
no  one  knew  —  or  remembered  if  they  did 
know  —  was  just  the  thing  her  heart  loved. 
It  was  several  weeks  before  Barbara  could  hear 
the  doorbell  without  a  terror  that  sent  her  at 
once  to  her  hiding-place. 

Janet  —  who  was  always  peering  around, 
looking  for  something  to  tell  about  —  nearly 
discovered  the  precious  secret.  She  had  no- 
ticed that  Barbara  often  disappeared  and  could 
not  be  found,  and  one  day  she  saw  the  hall 
lounge  a  little  drawn  away  from  the  wall,  and 
drawing  it  still  farther  she  saw  the  opening 
through  which  Barbara  slipped  ;  she  went  at 
once  to  her  aunt. 

"  Auntie,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  what  is  that 
great  hole  behind  the  lounge  in  the  hall  up- 
stairs?" 


THE  SECRET   HIDING-PLACE         195 

"  Oh,  that 's  only  into  the  roof  of  the  porch," 
said  her  aunt,  looking  up  from  her  sewing. 

"  May  I  go  in  there  and  see  what  it's  like ?" 
asked  Janet. 

Barbara,  who  was  reading  by  the  window, 
started  in  dismay,  but  her  mother's  words 
calmed  her. 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't  go  in  there !  "  she  said. 
"  It 's  full  of  dust  and  cobwebs  —  probably 
spiders.  It 's  too  low  to  be  cleaned  out,  and 
you  'd  get  very  dirty.  Besides,  there 's  nothing 
to  be  seen  there,  anyway." 

That  settled  Janet ;  to  get  dirty  was  the  one 
thing  she  hated  above  all  others.  So  Barbara 
breathed  freely,  and  her  den  was  never  dis- 
covered. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

A  LETTER  FROM  UNCLE  KARL 

"  BARBARA,"  said  her  mother  one  day  as  she 
came  in  from  school,  "  here 's  a  letter  for  you 
from  Uncle  Karl." 

"  Oh,  good ! "  cried  Barbara,  springing  joy- 
fully to  take  it. 

It  was  rather  large  for  a  letter,  and  her 
mother  smiled  as  she  gave  it  to  her.  "  I  guess 
it 's  one  of  his  kind  of  letters  written  with  the 
brush  and  not  the  pen,"  she  said. 

Hastily  Barbara  took  off  the  cover,  and 
sure  enough  —  it  was  a  card  somewhat  larger 
than  an  ordinary  letter  covered  with  the  sketch 
of  a  lively  scene. 

"It's the  kitchen,"  cried  Barbara, recogniz- 
ing it  at  once ;  "  there  's  the  stove,  and  over 
here  " —  pointing —  "is  the  door  that  leads  up- 
stairs, and  that  is  Mary  there,  in  the  same  old 
blue  dress ;  but  what  is  the  matter?  There  's 
a  puddle  of  something  on  the  floor  —  and— 


A  LETTER  FROM  UNCLE  KARL   197 

and —  a  broken  dish  —  and  —  she  seems  to  be 
wringing  her  hands  —  and  —  " 

"I  think,"  interrupted  her  mother,  "that 
she  has  dropped  a  dish  and  spilled  something, 
and  is  in  distress  about  it." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  Barbara, "  all  over  her  floor 
that  was  always  white  as  snow !  and  that 's 
Aunt  Betty  —  with  the  same  checked  apron, 
and  how  horrified  she  does  look !  "  and  Bar- 
bara's merry  laugh  rang  out  as  she  imagined 
the  scene. 

"  And  there  's  Uncle  Karl  just  come  in  to 
the  door,"  went  on  Barbara  eagerly,  "  hold- 
ing his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  as  if  crying  — 
the  dear  old  humbug  !  —  and  see,  mother  — 
one  eye  peeking  out  over  the  top!    Oh,  is  n't  he 
funny  !  "  and  she  laughed  long  and  loud ;  the 
picture  was  so  real,  she  could  see  the  whole 
thing. 

"  And  see  !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  pointing 
to  the  figure  of  a  small  dog  escaping  through 
an  open  door  evidently  in  a  desperate  fright, 
tail  curled  down,  running  for  dear  life. 

"  He  's  the  guilty  one  !  he  tripped  Mary  — 


198     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

or  startled  her  so  that  she  let  the  dish  fall ;  I 
wonder  what  was  in  it !  Oh,  see  !  the  kettle  is 
lifted  off  the  stove  onto  the  hearth,  and  the 
stuff  on  the  floor  is  steaming  —  why,  that's 
Aunt  Betty's  preserving  kettle  —  it 's  the  big- 
gest one  in  the  house  —  I  believe  that 's  a  lot 
of  preserves  she  has  just  made  !  " 

"And  see  there  on  the  table,"  said  her  mo- 
ther, "all  those  jars,  ready,  no  doubt,  to  hold 
it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Barbara,  "  and  see  this 
border  around  the  whole  —  it 's  branches  - 
and  —  and  —  "  she  hesitated  —  "  and  pears,  I 
do  believe!  yes — yes — Mary  was  putting  up 
pears  —  they  have  a  beautiful  pear-tree  in  the 
garden  —  and  that  little  dog  ran  in  and  star- 
tled her  —  and  she  let  the  dish  fall ;  it 's  plain 
as  day  !  Is  n't  he  wonderful,  mother  ?  and  so 
dear  !  "  she  added  warmly. 

"He  certainly  is,"  said  her  mother,  "my 
dearest  brother."  As  he  was  her  only  brother, 
this  made  Barbara  laugh  again. 

"  Why,  there 's  something  on  the  other  side ! " 
she  exclaimed,  turning  over  the  card. 


A  LETTER  FROM  UNCLE  KARL   199 

Sure  enough,  there  was  another  scene ;  the 
same  kitchen  with  Mary  on  her  knees  scrub- 
bing away  for  dear  life,  and  Aunt  Betty  stand- 
ing before  the  stove  with  dress  pinned  up  so 
as  not  to  touch  the  floor,  stirring  something 
in  the  big  kettle,  which  sent  steam  nearly  to 
the  ceiling. 

"  Mary  's  cleaning  up,  and  Aunt  Betty 's 
making  a  new  lot,"  said  Barbara,  laughing 
again. 

"You  must  answer  this  letter,"  said  her 

mother. 

• 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  I  '11  write  this  very  evening," 
said  Barbara  warmly.  "Dear  Uncle  Karl !  I 
wish  he  lived  here  !  "  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  as  a  sudden  thought 
struck  her,  "  I  '11  get  a  mammoth  sheet  and 
write  it  all  full." 

"  Well,"  said  her  mother,  "  that  '11  be  nice; 
he  deserves  it  for  such  a  letter  as  his." 

So  a  big  sheet  of  paper  was  bought,  and  the 
next  day  letter- writing  began. 

In  those  far-off  days  letters  were  not  so  com- 
mon as  they  are  now.  Postage  was  very  high, 


200     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

twenty-five  cents  for  each  letter,  no  matter 
what  its  size  or  weight.  This  postage  was 
paid  by  the  one  receiving  the  letter,  so  the 
writer  was  careful  to  make  it  worth  the  money 
it  cost.  It  was  customary  in  writing  to  a  friend 
to  take  what  was  called  a  "mammoth  sheet" 
—  almost  as  big  as  one  page  of  our  common 
daily  papers,  and  fill  it  at  leisure,  when  it  was 
full  folding  and  sealing  it  up  —  envelopes 
were  not  yet  —  fastening  it  with  sealing  wax, 
or  a  wafer  if  you  were  not  very  particular. 

Barbara  had  a  pretty  seal  which  had  come 
to  her  in  the  famous  birthday  box  in  Minne- 
sota. When  it  was  pressed  into  the  hot  seal- 
ing wax  that  held  the  letter,  it  showed  a  can- 
dle in  a  candlestick,  with  the  extinguisher  on, 
and  under  it  the  words  "  Good-night." 

Filling  a  mammoth  sheet  might  look  like  a 
great  undertaking  to  some  of  you,  in  these 
days  of  much  hasty  writing,  but  to  Barbara 
it  was  a  delight.  She  dearly  loved  to  write 
letters,  and  she  had  to  be  restrained  from 
sending  many  of  the  effusions  she  penned, 
because  of  the  uncertainty  that  her  letters 


A  LETTER  FROM  UNCLE  KARL   201 

would  be  thought  worth  the  quarter  they 
would  cost  the  receiver,  for  not  only  were  let- 
ters more  scarce,  but  quarters  were  not  so 
plentiful  and  so  common  as  now. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  Barbara  wrote 
many  letters  that  were  never  sent,  and  all  the 
time  she  was  in  Minnesota  she  had  kept  the 
family  well  informed  of  all  their  doings. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"IMPROVING  HER  MIND" 

ONE  desire  —  one  wish  was  so  much  a  part 
of  Barbara's  very  life  that  she  could  not  re- 
member when  she  had  not  cherished  it  as  her 
dearest  hope,  the  thing  for  which  she  was 
born.  That  was  for  writing  —  for  the  life  of 
an  author — for  exerting  what  influence  there 
might  be  in  her  through  her  pen. 

As  I  have  said  several  times,  she  was  pain- 
fully diffident ;  she  could  never  talk ;  the  pre- 
sence of  listeners  always  made  her  dumb ; 
only  with  pen  in  hand  in  her  solitary  room 
could  she  express  what  was  in  her. 

To  fit  herself  for  this  work  that  she  felt  was 
hers  she  began  early  to  recognize  that  she 
ought  to  know  more  than  she  did ;  that  it  was 
not  good  for  her  to  indulge  in  reading  or 
"  making  up  "  stories,  in  which  she  delighted  ; 
but  that  she  ought  to  devote  herself  to  "  solid 
reading."  In  a  word,  it  was  high  time,  in  the 


IMPROVING  HER  MIND  203 

language  of  the  day,  to  set  about  "improving 
her  mind." 

To  this  task  she  set  herself  soon  after  her 
return  from  the  west.  How  to  do  it  she 
learned  from  the  wise  men  of  those  days 
through  their  hooks.  These  were  the  rules : 

"First.  Do  some  solid  reading  every  day. 

"  Second.  Never  leave  a  sentence  until  you 
understand  it. 

"  Third.  At  the  bottom  of  each  page,  stop 
and  give  a  synopsis  of  the  contents  of  the 
page." 

Under  these  directions  she  marked  out  a 
plan  for  herself,  and  one  morning  she  began 
— full  of  enthusiasm  —  to  carry  it  out. 

She  must  have  absolute  quiet  in  order  to 
fix  her  mind  on  the  book ;  no  one  in  the 
house  must  know,  so  as  to  laugh  at  her  or  to 
watch  her.  So  she  rose  at  five  o'clock,  and, 
hastily  throwing  on  her  clothes,  she  betook 
herself  to  the  "spare  room,"  —a  room  re- 
served for  guests,  where  she  was  sure  no  one 
would  come,  at  least  at  that  early  hour,  and 
in  the  cold  and  gloomy  morning  opened  the 


204     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

book  she  had  chosen  from  the  bookcase  down- 
stairs. 

It  was  one  of  the  largest  and  least  interest- 
ing-looking ;  and  was,  she  was  sure,  "  solid  " 
enough  on  which  to  begin  her  labors.  It  was 
called  "  Finney's  Theology." 

I  will  not  dwell  on  her  struggles  over  this 
book  —  on  the  many  weary  mornings  she 
plodded  through  sentences  which  were  absolute 
Greek  to  her,  but  which  —  faithful  to  the 
rule  of  reading  a  sentence  over  till  she  under- 
stood it  —  she  read  and  re-read  till  her  brain 
was  in  a  muddle,  and  she  did  not  understand 
at  last  any  better  than  at  first. 

After  some  weeks  of  this  fruitless  work  she 
was  forced  to  conclude  that  the  task  was  too 
great  for  her,  without  a  teacher  to  explain. 
Either  she  was  stupid,  or  the  book  was  too 
"  solid  "  to  begin  on.  She  replaced  "  Finney's 
Theology  "  in  the  bookcase,  and  returned  to 
her  dearest  delight,  making  up  stories. 

It  was  very  soon  after  this  faithful  attempt 
and  its  dismal  failure,  and  she  had  reached  the 
age  of  fifteen,  when  she  discovered,  quite  by 


IMPROVING  HER  MIND  205 

accident  —  for  of  course  she  never  thought  of 
asking  any  one  for  advice  or  help  for  herself — 
she  discovered,  as  I  said,  by  accident,  that  a 
book  could  be  interesting  though  not  a  story. 

It  was  an  epoch  in  her  life;  it  opened  a 
new  and  delightf ul  world  to  her. 

Let  me  teh1  you  just  a  few  of  the  things 
that  troubled  Barbara  at  this  point  in  her 
troubled  young  life.  It  may  look  silly  to  older 
folk  who  have  forgotten  the  days  of  their 
youth,  but  many  young  hearts  will  under- 
stand. 

Barbara's  supreme  desire  was  to  look  and 
act  and  be  just  like  other  people,  so  as  not  to 
be  looked  at  or  noticed  in  any  way ;  but  she 
was  never  able  to  accomplish  it.  Other  girls' 
hair,  for  instance,  would  stay  flat  down  where 
it  was  put,  and  very  flat  down  was  the 
style  at  that  time,  while  Barbara's  had  a  wave 
as  unconquerable  as  a  wave  of  the  sea;  her 
dress  was  always  too  long  or  too  short,  and  it 
never  set  like  other  girls'  dresses,  —  it  would 
stick  out  where  it  should  lie  flat,  and  he  flat 
where  it  should  stick  out.  Then,  nature  had 


206     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

blessed  her  with  feet  and  hands  bigger  than 
those  described  in  the  story  books,  and  these 
unlucky  members  she  was  always  trying  to 
hide.  She  never  would  buy  her  own  shoes  or 
gloves,  because  she  was  ashamed  to  have  even 
a  shopman  know  the  appalling  size  she  wore ! 

Then  again  her  eyes  were  not  the  large, 
liquid  blue  of  the  story  maidens,  which  she 
longed  to  possess,  but  moderate-sized  dark 
brown  ones;  and  worse  still,  in  her  healthy 
outdoor  life  she  had  shot  up  quite  tall;  at 
fourteen  she  had  reached  her  full  height,  and 
so  foolishly  ashamed  was  she  of  this  that 
when  standing  up  during  the  hymns  in  church, 
she  would  bend  her  knees  a  little  and  stand  in 
that  painful,  crouching  position,  so  as  not  to 
tower  above  her  shorter  neighbors. 

More  real,  though  perhaps  no  harder  to  bear 
at  this  age,  were  the  troubles  she  found  in 
the  books  she  read  —  I  might  better  say  de- 
voured. There  were  always  allusions  to  things 
of  which  she  was  ignorant,  yet  that  evidently 
every  one  was  supposed  to  know,  —  books  it 
was  taken  for  granted  every  one  had  read, 


IMPROVING  HER  MIND  207 

names  quoted  that  were  plainly  familiar  as 
household  words  —  but  all  unknown  to  her. 
Worst  of  all,  she  did  not  know  where  to  look 
or  how  to  find  out  these  things.  She  could 
not  even  bear  to  ask  Uncle  Karl,  dearly  as  she 
loved  him,  and  encyclopedias  and  other  books 
of  reference  this  hungry,  self-torturing  soul 
had  never  heard  of. 

The  book  that  opened  a  new  world  to  her 
was  —  strangely  enough — Macaulay's  Essays. 
How  much  she  learned  from  it !  how  many 
allusions  over  which  she  had  puzzled  in  her 
reading  were  explained  in  this  precious  vol- 
ume !  She  devoured  it  from  cover  to  cover, 
and  best  of  all  she  learned  how  to  find  out 
things.  It  sent  her  to  encyclopedias  and  spe- 
cial dictionaries,  and  though  there  were  none 
in  the  bookcase  at  home,  there  were  a  few  in 
a  library  to  which  she  had  access. 


CHAPTER  XXIH 

BOARDING  SCHOOL 

A  FEW  weeks  after  the  world  was  changed 
to  Barbara  by  the  reading  of  a  book  there 
came  another  epoch  in  her  life. 

Janet,  now  eighteen  years  old,  was  married, 
and  went  away  to  live,  taking  her  mother  with 
her. 

This  alone  made  Barbara  very  happy,  but 
it  was  not  the  end  of  changes. 

"  Barbara,"  said  her  mother  to  her,  the 
evening  after  the  wedding  and  the  departure, 
"your  father  is  obliged  to  go  away  on  a  long 
trip  of  some  months,  and  I  have  decided  to  go 
with  him." 

"  And  take  me  ?  "  cried  Barbara  in  a  spasm 

of  joy. 

"  No ;  we  don't  think  that  best  this  time  ; 
but  you  may  choose  where  you  will  go.  You 
may  go  to  stay  with  either  of  your  aunts,  or 
—  you  may  go  to  boarding  school." 


BOARDING  SCHOOL  209 

To  go  to  Aunt  Fanny,  \vho  lived  on  a  farm, 
was  not  very  alluring,  and  she  did  not  care  to 
go  again  to  Aunt  Betty  so  soon,  but  to  go 
to  boarding  school  was  one  of  her  burning  de- 
sires, and  the  idea  of  that  quite  compensated 
her  for  her  brief  disappointment  about  the 
journey;  she  cried  eagerly, — 

"  Of  course  I  '11  go  to  boarding  school !  I  've 
always  wanted  to !  Where  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  We  must  look  about  and  see  where  it  will 
be  best,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  have  n't  made 
any  inquiries  yet." 

They  did  look  about,  they  sent  for  circulars, 
they  consulted  friends,  and  Barbara  did  not 
let  the  subject  rest  till  they  had  decided  upon 
a  school,  a  famous  one  in  a  pretty  New  Eng- 
land village. 

Barbara  was  now  the  envied  of  all  her 
schoolmates,  with  one  and  all  of  whom  "  go- 
ing to  boarding  school "  was  the  height  of 
felicity. 

Getting  ready  was  almost  as  delightful  as 
any  part  of  the  new  experience.  Barbara's 
mother  was  an  unworldly  woman,  who  did  not 


210     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

give  much  thought  to  dress,  her  favorite  motto 
being  that  if  a  garment  was  whole  and  clean 
it  was  suitable  for  any  occasion.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  Barbara,  like  most  of  the  world, 
did  not  agree  with  her  in  this  opinion,  and 
unfortunately  it  shook  her  confidence  in  her 
mother's  judgment  of  what  was  proper  for 
her. 

Barbara  herself  was  so  decided  in  her  tastes, 
so  full  of  notions  about  her  clothes,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  ignorant  of  the  fashions,  that 
the  village  dressmaker  was  nearly  worn  out  — 
mind  and  body  —  before  the  last  stitch  was 
taken. 

Then  came  the  delight  of  packing,  second 
only  to  the  excitement  of  the  journey,  followed 
by  the  half-day's  ride  in  the  stage,  and  the 
introduction  just  at  evening  to  the  beautiful 
grounds  and  the  stately  buildings  of  the 
"  Young  Ladies'  Seminary  "  which  had  been 
chosen. 

Arrangements  had  been  made  by  letter,  so 
that  Barbara  was  expected,  and  a  room  was 
ready  for  her,  but  when  she  was  shown  to  the 


BOARDING  SCHOOL  211 

room  she  was  surprised  to  find  it  already 
occupied,  and  to  be  told  by  the  dignified 
matron  of  the  establishment  that  she  was  to 
share  the  room  with  the  young  lady  already 
there,  Miss  Kate  Reed,  to  whom  she  was  at 
once  introduced. 

"  You  will  have  two  drawers  in  the  bureau, 
and  half  the  clothes-press,"  said  that  lady 
calmly,  "  and  when  you  have  unpacked  your 
trunk  it  will  be  placed  in  the  trunk  room  at 
the  end  of  the  hall,  where  you  can  have 
access  to  it  when  you  wish.  Miss  Reed  will 
tell  you  the  hours  for  meals,  and  show  you 
where  to  go,  and  I  hope  you  two  will  be  very 
happy  together,"  and  with  this  she  turned 
away,  leaving  the  two  girls  to  get  acquainted 
at  their  leisure. 

Barbara,  who  had  been  used  all  her  lif e  to  a 
room  alone,  was  so  taken  aback  by  having  a 
roommate  thrust  upon  her  that  for  a  moment 
she  had  a  wild  desire  to  turn  and  run  out  of 
the  house  and  back  home.  But  she  knew,  of 
course,  that  could  not  be,  and  she  sank  into 
a  chair,  uncertain  what  to  do  or  say. 


212     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Meanwhile  the  girl,  her  new  roommate,  was 
looking  at  her  sharply,  "taking  her  in,"  as 
Barbara  felt,  from  head  to  foot,  and  she  felt 
from  that  first  moment  a  deep  dislike  to  her. 
At  last  Miss  Reed  spoke. 

"  You  better  take  off  your  things,"  she  said, 
"  the  supper  bell  '11  ring  in  a  minute." 

"I — I — never  had  any  one  in  the  room 
with  me,"  stammered  Barbara.  "  Can't  any- 
body have  a  room  alone  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kate  crossly,  for  she  resented 
Barbara's  unwillingness  to  room  with  her. 
"  Not  unless  she 's  a  nabob,"  she  went  on 
scornfully.  "If  you're  too  grand  to  room 
with  anybody  you  better  apply  to  Madam, 
and  perhaps  she  '11  give  you  a  suite  to  your- 
self on  the  drawing-room  floor — with  a  maid 
to  wait  on  you,"  and  with  this  crushing  sar- 
casm she  flounced  out  of  the  room  to  tell  the 
other  girls  about  her  new  roommate. 

Barbara's  heart  sank,  and  her  grand  ideas 
of  "boarding  school"  had  a  severe  shock;  but 
she  tried  to  console  herself  with  the  thought 
that  it  would  n't  be  for  long,  and  anyway  she 


BOARDING  SCHOOL  213 

must  endure  it.  So  she  took  off  her  things 
and  prepared  for  the  call  to  supper. 

Unfortunately  this  school  that  had  been 
chosen  was  a  fashionable  one,  and  Barbara's 
quick  eye  saw  at  once  that  her  wardrobe  was 
not  up  to  the  standard  of  the  city  girls,  her 
schoolmates.  She  was  as  quick  to  see  it  as 
they  were,  and  almost  before  they  had,  in 
schoolgirl  fashion,  set  her  down  as  "coun- 
tryfied,"  she  had  as  positively  dubbed  them 
"stuck-up,"  and  in  her  usual  way  taken  refuge 
in  a  reserve  which  looked  like  haughtiness, 
but  was  really  extreme  shyness. 

This  unhappy  state  of  things  might  have 
changed  on  better  acquaintance,  but  it  was, 
on  the  contrary,  strengthened  by  the  fact 
that  Barbara  had  little  opportunity  for  mak- 
ing acquaintances,  for,  being  left  to  choose 
her  own  studies,  she  had  chosen  what  she 
liked,  —  music,  French,  and  German.  With 
these  studies  only,  she  was  classed  as  a  "  spe- 
cial student,"  and  did  not  sit  in  the  schoolroom 
with  the  other  girls,  but  studied  in  her  room 
and  went  to  the  recitation  room  only  to  recite. 


214     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Thus  her  acquaintance  was  limited  to  the 
girls  who  boarded  in  the  house,  and  her  natu- 
ral diffidence,  added  to  all  the  rest,  resulted  in 
making  her  almost  a  hermit  in  her  room. 

She  really  knew  but  one  girl  well,  and  that 
one  was  her  roommate,  who,  unfortunately 
for  Barbara,  was  a  great  gossip,  fond  of  tell- 
ing big  stories,  and  careless  of  the  truth  of 
them. 

Very  soon  Barbara  found  herself  really 
avoided  by  the  girls,  and,  attributing  it  to  her 
plain  dress,  she  shut  herself  up  in  a  shell 
of  cold  reserve.  This  gave  her  unscrupulous 
roommate,  who  really  had  a  genius  for  false- 
hood, chance  to  make  up  as  many  stories 
about  her  as  she  fancied.  She  did  not  fail  to 
take  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  and  enter- 
'tained  the  girls  day  after  day  with  all  sorts 
of  imaginary  tales  about  Barbara,  her  home, 
her  parents,  their  queer  ways,  and  their  posi- 
tion in  society,  of  which  she  was,  of  course, 
entirely  ignorant. 

Barbara's  shy  keeping  to  herself  made  the 
stories  seem  probable,  and  before  long  she 


BOARDING  SCHOOL  215 

noticed  that  all  the  girls  looked  askance  at  her, 
and  she  was  as  much  alone  as  if  she  were  in  a 
foreign  country  where  no  one  spoke  her  lan- 
guage, and  naturally  very  unhappy. 

Now  Barbara,  being  a  "  special  student," 
had  privileges  that  the  regular  scholars  had 
not.  One  of  these  was  liberty  to  go  out  of  the 
house  whenever  she  liked,  while  the  others 
could  go  only  on  specified  days.  Her  room- 
mate took  advantage  of  this  to  give  Barbara 
plenty  of  errands  to  do  for  her ;  such  as  to 
buy  candy  or  cakes  or  something  of  that  kind, 
and  smuggle  it  into  the  house  under  her  cape, 
so  that  the  maid  who  opened  the  door  should 
not  see  them  and  report  —  for  this  was  against 
the  rules,  though  Barbara  did  not  know  it. 
Barbara  did  not  like  these  errands  very  much, 
they  seemed  sneaky,  and  she  hated  anything 
of  that  kind,  but  she  disliked  to  refuse  her 
roommate,  for  she  could  be  very  disagreeable 
when  she  chose. 

One  week  there  seemed  no  end  to  the  pur- 
chases she  had  to  make  for  her.  Every  time 
she  went  out  it  was  something,  —  cakes,  candy, 


216     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

tarts,  and  finally  a  pie.  This  last  got  her  into 
serious  trouble,  for  it  greased  through  the 
paper  it  was  wrapped  in,  and  as  Barbara  held 
it  up  under  her  cape  it  greased  her  dress 
waist  so  that  she  could  n't  wear  it  again.  It 
was  her  best  one,  too,  a  light  blue  merino,  and 
after  that  she  had  to  wear  one  of  her  school 
dresses  when  she  went  out,  which  annoyed 
her  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SECRET  OUT 

BARBARA  soon  found  out  what  all  these 
mysterious  purchases  were  for.  The  very  next 
day  after  the  ruin  of  her  dress  was  a  special 
anniversary  in  the  school,  which  was  always  a 
holiday  and  celebrated  by  an  unusually  fine 
dinner  in  the  Principal's  private  dining-room, 
to  which  none  but  scholars  in  good  standing 
were  invited.  Each  one  considered  worthy, 
received,  several  days  before  the  important 
day,  an  engraved  invitation  in  the  highest 
style  of  the  art,  and  on  the  festive  occasion 
she  put  on  her  best  gown  and  her  finest 
company  manners,  and  was  entertained  as 
though  she  were  an  honored  guest,  instead  of 
a  boarding  pupil. 

By  poor  scholarship  Kate  Reed  had  for- 
feited the  right  to  partake  of  this  festival,  and 
now  appeared  the  reason  for  the  supplies  Bar- 
bara had  brought  in  for  her. 


218     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

The  school  grounds  were  very  large,  and  in 
them  was  a  small  body  of  water  called  a  lake. 
This  was  a  favorite  place  for  boating,  and 
there  were  two  small  rowboats  belonging  to 
the  school  which  the  girls  were  allowed  to  use. 
In  the  middle  of  this  lake  was  a  tiny  island, 
the  favorite  resort  of  picnic  parties,  when  the 
girls  had  permission  to  have  them,  on  holidays. 
Early  in  the  morning  of  the  festive  day  Kate 
had  stolen  out  of  the  house  with  her  numer- 
ous packages,  accompanied  by  two  other  girls 
who  were  likewise  debarred  from  the  day's 
pleasures.  They  rowed  over  to  the  island, 
taking  both  boats  so  that  no  one  could  follow 
them.  There,  in  plain  sight  from  the  shore, 
they  had  spread  their  feast,  a  clean  towel  for 
a  tablecloth  and  the  grass  for  seats. 

The  island  was  so  near  that  everything  could 
be  seen,  and  though  the  dinner  was  not  so  fine 
as  that  to  which  the  fortunate  ones  were  bid- 
den, it  consisted  of  things  that  schoolgirls 
specially  like  —  cake,  pie,  candy,  nuts,  and 
raisins ;  not  an  inch  of  bread  or  any  solid 
thing.  Hardly  one  of  the  girls  who  crowded 


THE  SECRET  OUT  219 

the  banks,  looking  across  the  water  at  the 
culprits  and  calling  them  to  send  one  of  the 
boats  back  so  they  could  come  over  —  hardly 
one,  I  say,  but  would  have  preferred  the  for- 
bidden goodies,  rapidly  disappearing  before 
their  eyes,  to  the  rather  formal  and  perfectly 
proper  dinner  in  the  house. 

Meanwhile  Kate  was  triumphant.  While  she 
had  not  absolutely  broken  the  rules,  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  having  a  good  time  in  spite  of  what 
was  intended  as  a  punishment;  and  that  all 
the  girls  envied  her  her  feast  she  well  knew. 

When  the  day  was  over,  the  viands  all  eaten, 
and  Kate  and  her  party  returned  to  the  house, 
she  was  called  into  the  room  of  the  Principal 
and  reproved.  In  reply  to  the  question  who 
supplied  her  with  the  forbidden  dainties,  she 
was  mean  enough  to  answer  that  Barbara  did, 
without  explaining  the  circumstances,  so  that 
Barbara  was  supposed  to  be  an  accomplice, 
and  in  her  turn  was  reproved  and  not  allowed 
to  go  out  as  freely  as  before. 

All  this  trouble  with  her  roommate  came  at 
last  to  an  end,  in  this  way :  Next  to  Barbara 


220     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

at  the  long  dining-table  sat  a  girl  with  whom 
she  had  sometimes  exchanged  a  few  words, 
and  one  day  this  neighbor  —  Fanny  Burt  from 
Minnesota  —  being  in  a  rage  against  some  of 
the  girls  who  had  asked  her  what  she  con- 
sidered insulting  questions  about  her  home, 
could  not  help  pouring  out  her  grievances 
even  in  the  ear  of  her  silent  neighbor. 

"  Because  I  live  in  Minnesota,"  she  said 
indignantly,  "  they  think  we  are  half  civilized 
out  there.  They  asked  me  if  I  wasn't  afraid 
of  Indians  !  Indians  !  "  she  added  with  scorn. 
"  There  are  n't  any  more  Indians  there  than 
here ! " 

"  I  once  knew  a  girl  who  lived  in  Minnea- 
polis," said  Barbara,  after  she  had  expressed 
her  sympathy. 

"  Who  was  it  ?  "  asked  Fanny,  interested. 

"  It  was  Lily  Wilson,"  said  Barbara.  "  She 
spent  a  winter  in  our  town,  with  her  aunt." 

"  Why,  she 's  my  own  cousin ! "  cried  Fanny, 
"  and  my  dearest  friend ;  and  —  come  to  think 
—  I  believe  I  Ve  heard  her  speak  of  you  !  Is 
your  name  Barbara  Brainard  ?  " 


THE  SECRET  OUT  221 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara. 

Fanny  was  thoughtful  a  moment ;  then,  be- 
ing a  very  outspoken  girl,  she  went  on :  — 

"  Lily  was  very  fond  of  you,  and  I  don't 
believe  a  word  Kate  Reed  says  about  you  and 
your  folks." 

"  What  does  she  say  ? "  asked  Barbara, 
startled.  "  She  does  n't  know  anything  about 
them." 

"  Why,  she  tells  awful  stories,"  said  Fanny, 
"  and  that's  why  —  "  she  hesitated. 

"  Is  that  why  the  girls  don't  care  to  know 
me  ?  "  asked  Barbara,  a  light  breaking  in  upon 
her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fanny.  "  Come  into  my  room 
after  study  hours  and  I  '11  tell  you.  I  believe 
that  girl 's  been  lying ;  she 's  an  awful  liar  any- 
way —  and  it's  a  shame  !  "  she  finished  hotly. 

Well,  Barbara  went,  and  heard  stories  of 
herself  and  her  home  life  which  had  been  made 
up  by  her  roommate,  —  all  utterly  false,  of 
course.  These  stories,  and  not  her  plain  dress 
it  was,  which  had  prejudiced  every  one  against 
her. 


222     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

For  once,  in  her  indignation  Barbara  forgot 
her  shyness  and  talked  freely,  convincing  the 
girls  assembled  there  that  they  had  been 
grossly  deceived. 

Barbara,  feeling  outraged,  by  the  advice 
of  the  girls  complained  to  the  heads  of  the 
school.  This  made  a  stir  in  the  household; 
Kate  Reed  was  called  to  the  room  of  the  Prin- 
cipal, and  closely  questioned  as  to  her  au- 
thority for  the  statements  she  had  made. 

She  denied  some  of  the  charges,  tried  to 
justify  others,  and  at  last  got  confused,  and 
contradicted  herself,  and  convinced  her  judges 
that  she  had  been  guilty  of  falsehood  and 
slander. 

She  was  severely  reproved,  and  removed  to 
another  room  with  an  under  teacher,  who 
would  keep  her  in  order,  it  was  hoped. 

After  that  affair  Barbara  got  on  better  and 
made  some  warm  friends  among  her  school- 
mates ;  but  after  all  she  was  not  of  them,  and 
she  grew  more  and  more  anxious  for  the  time 
when  she  could  go  home. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  END  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS 

IT  was  not  long  after  Kate  Reed  had  been  re- 
moved to  another  room  that  she  finished  her 
career  in  that  school,  and  was  sent  home  in 
disgrace. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  One  Sunday  even- 
ing a  group  of  the  girls  on  the  third  floor, 
where  Barbara  lived,  were  gathered  in  one  of 
the  larger  rooms,  sitting  in  the  twilight  telling 
stories.  Sunday  evening  there  was  no  study 
hour,  and  they  often  passed  it  in  this  way. 

After  awhile,  as  it  grew  darker,  the  stories 
gradually  took  on  a  sombre  tone,  and  finally 
they  became  mostly  ghost  stories. 

When  they  had  worked  themselves  into  a 
rather  excitable  state,  Kate  Reed,  still  smarting 
from  her  disgrace,  thought  she  would  give  them 
a  scare.  She  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room, 
wrapped  herself  in  a  sheet  from  her  bed,  and 
came  back. 


224     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

The  room  was  faintly  lighted  from  a  street 
lamp  outside,  and  when  there  suddenly  ap- 
peared in  the  open  door  the  tall  white  figure, 
it  could  be  indistinctly  seen. 

One  of  the  girls,  naturally  delicate,  and  some- 
what superstitious  besides,  had  by  over-study 
and  too  great  ambition  brought  herself  into 
such  a  state  of  nervousness  that  not  much  was 
needed  to  upset  her.  The  excitement  of  the 
hour  and  the  stories  had  worked  upon  her  so 
that  when  she  looked  up  and  saw  in  the  dim 
light  this  figure,  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek 
and  fell  on  the  floor  in  violent  convulsions. 

There  was  instant  consternation  in  the 
house,  and  during  the  confusion  the  guilty 
figure  vanished. 

Teachers  came  at  once,  the  room  was 
lighted,  girls  sent  to  their  own  rooms,  and  a 
doctor  called.  It  was  hours  before  the  victim 
was  restored  to  consciousness,  and  in  fact  — 
as  was  learned  afterwards  —  she  never  fully 
recovered. 

As  soon  as  she  was  able,  her  friends  took 
her  home,  but  the  news  was  gradually  whis- 


THE  END  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS         225 

pered  about  among  the  girls  that  she  would 
never  be  the  bright  scholar  she  had  been. 

To  discover  the  culprit  was  the  teachers' 
first  care.  The  girls  were  all  questioned,  but 
no  one  knew,  and  it  was  not  until  a  search  of 
all  the  rooms  on  the  floor  brought  to  light  a 
hastily  scrambled-together  bed  in  Kate  Reed's 
room,  and,  on  closer  examination,  a  sheet 
mussed  and  having  a  corner  still  pinned  up 
to  form  a  cap,  that  the  truth  became  known. 
The  search  had  been  so  sudden  that  she  had 
not  had  time  to  make  the  bed  properly. 

Added  to  these  evidences,  her  conduct  when 
accused  proved  her  guilty.  She  was  removed 
to  a  little  room  opening  from  one  of  the  teach- 
ers' rooms  and  kept  there  in  confinement  till  her 
parents  could  be  informed  and  come  to  take 
her  away.  None  of  the  girls  saw  her  again. 

While  all  these  things  had  been  happening 
the  weeks  had  grown  into  months,  and  it  was 
spring,  and  near  to  the  end  of  the  school  year. 

Barbara's  parents  had  returned  from  their 
long  trip,  and  one  day  she  received  a  letter 
containing  great  news.  Her  father  had  de- 


226     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

cided  to  go  to  the  far  West  to  live,  and  her 
mother  was  already  packing  up  for  the  move. 

To  go  to  new  places  and  see  new  things 
was  next  best  to  traveling  all  over  the 
world  —  which  was  one  of  Barbara's  great 
desires.  This  plan,  therefore,  filled  her  with 
delight.  In  fact,  she  was  so  elated  by  the  news 
that  she  could  hardly  keep  her  mind  on  her 
studies  at  all.  French  verbs  grew  more  and 
more  intricate;  German  genders  took  on  new 
mysteries,  and  when  she  tried  to  practice  she 
could  play  only  the  most  joyous  airs, — in  fact, 
she  wanted  to  shout  with  joy. 

Staying  stupidly  at  school  while  this  jolly 
thing  was  happening  became,  to  her  mind, 
an  impossibility.  She  wrote  an  urgent  letter 
to  her  mother,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  come 
home  at  once,  to  help  get  ready,  and  to  take 
the  long  journey  with  them.  The  school  year, 
she  urged,  was  nearly  over,  and  the  rest  of  the 
time  was  mostly  taken  up  by  reviews  and  ex- 
aminations, which,  as  she  was  not  to  come 
back  next  year,  were  really  not  important  to 
her. 


THE  END  OF  SCHOOL  DAYS         227 

This  plan  was  approved  at  home,  for  her 
father  had  arranged  to  take  the  trip  in  a  way 
very  different  from  that  in  which  Barbara  and 
Uncle  Karl  had  made  it  the  year  before. 

Thus  it  happened  that  within  a  week  after 
the  tragic  affair  just  related,  Barbara  bade 
farewell  to  school,  and  went  home  to  make 
ready  for  her  long  journey. 

When  the  stage  drove  up  to  the  house  to 
let  Barbara  alight,  a  young  man  ran  out  of 
the  door  to  assist  her.  For  an  instant  Barbara 
did  not  recognize  him,  then  she  cried  joyously : 

"Why!  Brother  Ned!  you  here?" 

For  it  was  indeed  her  only  brother,  several 
years  older  than  herself,  who  had  been  for 
many  years  —  all  the  time  Barbara  had  been 
living  this  story  —  away  from  home,  at  school 
and  college,  and  the  last  two  or  three  years 
pursuing  his  studies  abroad,  so  that  he  was 
really  almost  a  stranger  to  Barbara. 

Now  he  had  finished  his  studies  and  come 
home  before  deciding  upon  his  profession,  and 
he  was  to  be  of  the  family  party  on  the  jour- 
ney which,  as  I  said,  was  to  be  very  differ- 


228     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

ent  from,  and  far  more  delightful  than  the  one 
Barbara  had  already  taken. 

Her  father  had  bought  a  fine  pair  of  horses 
and  a  large,  comfortable  carriage  with  a  place 
at  the  back  for  baggage.  With  this  outfit  he 
proposed  to  drive  leisurely  through  the  coun- 
try. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAY 

IT  was  a  fine  morning  in  May  when,  the 
last  bit  of  furniture  being  packed  and  nailed 
up  in  its  box,  the  last  good-by  said  to  friends, 
the  last  baggage  piled  up  on  the  back  of  the 
carriage,  the  family  took  their  seats  and  drove 
away  from  their  empty  home. 

Packing  had  been  tiresome  work,  for  every- 
thing had  to  be  boxed  for  the  long  journey 
by  canal  boat,  by  lake  steamer,  and  lastly  by 
teams. 

To  make  the  carriage  load  as  light  as  pos- 
sible the  things  they  took  with  them  to  use  on 
the  way  were  packed  in  traveling  bags,  queer, 
old-fashioned  things  they  were,  such  as  you 
young  folks  never  saw  unless  you  happened 
to  come  across  one  in  some  grandmother's  attic. 
They  were  made  of  very  heavy,  gay-colored 
striped  stuff,  long  and  narrow  in  shape,  like 
the  mail  bags  used  in  Uncle  Sam's  post  of- 


230     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

fices,  and  fastened  at  the  top  by  a  strap  woven 
in  and  out  through  holes  made  for  it  in  the 
heavy  leather  top  of  the  bag  and  locked  by  a 
small  padlock. 

One  of  these  bags  would  hold  as  much  as 
a  small  trunk,  and  mussy  enough  everything 
looked  when  it  came  out  of  one !  Two  of  these 
great  sacks  held  the  baggage  of  the  four  trav- 
elers, and  were  strapped  on  to  the  carriage, 
as  I  said. 

Barbara  was  in  the  highest  spirits  when 
they  started,  and  told  Ned  with  great  glee 
about  the  famous  luncheons  presented  to  Uncle 
Karl  and  herself  when  they  started  for  the 
West.  They  took  no  luncheon  this  time,  for 
they  intended  to  stop  at  hotels  and  farm- 
houses for  their  meals  and  to  sleep. 

The  first  few  days  were  delightful,  the 
weather  fine,  the  roads  good,  towns  and  vil- 
lages convenient  to  stop  at.  The  horses  were 
fresh,  and  trotted  off  gayly,  and  Barbara 
thought  she  never  heard  of  such  a  charming 
way  of  traveling. 

But  this  delightful  state  of  things  could 


ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAY        231 

not  last  always.  As  they  drew  near  the  west- 
ern part  of  the  state  towns  were  less  frequent, 
and  roads  not  so  good.  Then  the  weather 
changed,  and  one  day  there  came  on  a  steady 
rain.  There  was  no  comfortable  place  where 
they  could  stay  till  the  storm  was  over,  so  they 
had  to  drive  on,  all  the  time  hoping  to  come 
to  a  country  inn  or  a  good-looking  farmhouse. 
It  seemed  almost  as  if  they  had  got  into  an 
unsettled  country,  for  nearly  all  day  passed 
without  the  sight  of  a  house.  The  rain  was 
in  their  faces,  so  that  in  spite  of  the  side  cur- 
tains they  were  very  wet. 

They  made  as  merry  as  they  could,  Barbara 
declaring  that  she  loved  to  ride  in  the  rain, 
till  brother  Ned  on  the  front  seat,  chancing  to 
look  around  at  her,  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  What  is  so  very  funny?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  only  had  a  looking-glass  !  "  cried 
Ned  between  shouts  of  laughter.  "  Mother, 
look  at  her !  Is  n't  she  a  sight !  " 

Mrs.  Brainard  turned  and  looked  at  Barbara. 
She  could  not  help  a  smile,  for  Barbara's  bon- 
net, which  was  of  some  openwork  fabric  which 


232  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

had  been  stiffened  into  shape,  had  wilted  under 
the  soaking,  and  the  ribbon  with  which  it  was 
trimmed  had  dripped  bright  green  streams 
over  her  forehead. 

"  She  looks  like  an  Indian  in  his  war  paint ! " 
cried  Ned.  But  it  ceased  to  be  funny  when 
Barbara  snatched  off  the  wreck  of  a  bonnet, 
covered  her  face,  and  began  to  cry.  She 
could  n't  bear  to  be  laughed  at,  and  the  ruin  of 
her  bonnet,  and  the  thought  of  how  she  should 
look  to  stop  anywhere  were  too  much  for  her. 

"There  —  there,"  said  her  father  sooth- 
ingly, though  there  was  a  quiver  on  his  lips  as 
he  glanced  back  at  her,  for  she  was  indeed,  as 
Ned  had  declared,  a  sight,  "don't  take  it  so 
hard,  daughter.  We  '11  make  it  all  right  at  the 
first  town  we  come  to." 

"  Yes,"  said  her  mother.  "  You  shall  have  a 
new  bonnet,  dear." 

"  I  can't  go  to  a  store  to  pick  one  out ! " 
sobbed  Barbara. 

"  Never  mind,  sis,"  said  Ned,  ashamed  of 
his  rudeness.  "  I  '11  pick  it  out  myself,  and  it 
shall  be  the  prettiest  in  the  shop,  too." 


ADVENTURES  ON  THE   WAY          233 

Tears  did  not  improve  Barbara's  looks,  but 
her  mother  with  a  wet  cloth  sponged  the 
streaks  from  her  face,  and  taking  off  the  drip- 
ping ribbon  doubled  back  the  front  of  the 
limp  bonnet  —  which  was  really  a  bonnet  and 
not  a  hat  such  as  young  folk  wear  nowadays 
—  so  that  it  looked  like  a  close-fitting  hood, 
and  was  not  so  dreadful. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  they  came  in  sight 
of  a  log  house  which  had  also  a  barn.  A  barn 
was  as  important  as  a  house  to  the  travelers, 
for  the  faithful  Bill  and  Bob  must  be  made 
comfortable  as  well  as  the  people. 

They  drove  up  to  the  house,  and,  handing 
the  reins  to  Ned,  Mr.  Brainard  got  out  and 
went  towards  the  door,  Barbara  following.  A 
man  came  out. 

"  Can  you  give  us  supper  and  keep  us  all 
night  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Brainard. 

The  man  looked  blank.  "  Kein  Inglis,"  he 
said. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Brainard,  "  what 
shall  we  do  now !  "  then,  turning  to  Barbara, 
"  Can't  you  '  parley  vous '  him  —  or  whatever 


234     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

is  the  German  for  it?  You  know  German, 
don't  you?" 

"  Y-e-s,"  said  Barbara  doubtfully. 

"  Well ;  ask  him  if  he  can  keep  us,"  said 
her  father.  Barbara  cudgeled  her  brains. 

"  Ich  kann  kleine  deutsch  —  "  she  began, 
when  a  light  came  into  the  man's  dull  face, 
and  he  poured  out  such  a  torrent  of  German 
that  Barbara  could  n't  understand  a  word. 

"  Wait !  wait ! "  she  cried,  "  nichts  verstay ; " 
then  more  slowly,  "  Wollen  zie  geben  —  (dear 
me  !  what  is  supper !) "  She  began  again : 
"  Wir  wollen  —  eat  —  manger,"  she  said  des- 
perately, "  und  schlafen — (Oh,  dear,  why  can't 
I  think !)  alle  nicht,"  she  finished  in  despair, 
hoping  he  would  guess  her  meaning.  But  he  did 
not ;  his  face  was  a  stupid  blank,  evidently  he 
had  not  a  spark  of  imagination  to  aid  him. 

At  this  moment  Ned  came  up,  and  it  sud- 
denly flashed  upon  Barbara  that  he  had  lived 
two  years  in  Berlin.  She  turned,  seized  his 
arm,  and  gave  him  a  violent  shake,  crying  out, 
"  You  bad  boy  !  Why  did  you  let  me  make  a 
fool  of  myself  ?  " 


ADVENTURES   ON  THE  WAY         235 

"  I  wanted  to  see,"  said  Ned  with  laughing 
eyes, "  how  boarding  school  German  would  go." 

"  Well,  I  think  it  was  real  mean,"  said 
Barbara,  now  thoroughly  vexed,  and  turning 
away  from  the  door.  Then  Ned  addressed  the 
man  in  his  own  language.  He  brightened  up 
at  once,  and  they  soon  came  to  an  understand- 
ing. They  could  have  supper  and  beds,  "  two 
beds,"  the  man  said  proudly.  The  horses 
could  be  made  comfortable  in  the  barn,  and 
the  carriage  could  go  under  the  shed. 

Barbara  and  her  mother  hurried  into  the 
house,  glad  to  see  a  big  fire  on  the  hearth  and 
to  be  met  by  a  hospitable-looking  frau,  who, 
though  she  could  not  talk  to  them,  made  them 
comfortable  in  her  own  way.  Meanwhile  Ned 
and  his  father  with  their  host  went  to  see  to 
the  comfort  of  Bill  and  Bob.  Soon  they  came 
in,  bearing  the  great  traveling  bags,  which, 
having  been  well  covered,  had  not  been  wet  by 
the  rain. 

The  room  was  kitchen,  bedroom,  and  living- 
room  all  in  one,  being,  in  fact,  the  whole  of  the 
lower  part  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Brainard  had 


236    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

looked  around  anxiously  on  the  two  beds  in 
the  far  corner,  till  she  noticed  steep  stairs, 
hardly  more  than  a  ladder,  which  evidently  led 
to  rooms  above. 

"  Oh,  mother,  is  n't  this  a  queer  place  !  " 
whispered  Barbara.  "  I  wonder  if  we  've  got  to 
sleep  here ! " 

"  No,  dear,"  said  her  mother.  "  Don't  you 
see  the  stairs?  There  must  be  something  up 
there." 

Soon  they  were  warm  and  dry,  and  inter- 
ested in  the  preparations  for  supper  which  were 
going  on,  while  Ned  was  obliged  to  answer  a 
thousand  questions  about  their  journey. 

When  at  last  they  were  bidden  to  eat,  they 
found  on  the  table  fried  salt  pork  swimming 
in  gravy,  potatoes  roasted  before  the  fire, 
sauerkraut,  cold  boiled  beans,  zwieback,  and 
pickles,  with  thick,  black-looking  coffee. 

Barbara  looked  over  the  viands  with  dis- 
may ;  not  a  thing  she  could  eat,  she  thought, 
except  the  potatoes,  which  she  didn't  like 
anyway. 

But  Ned,  after  his  Berlin  training,  attacked 


ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAY         237 

the  sauerkraut  and  zwieback  cheerfully,  and 
her  father  and  mother,  after  draining  off  the 
grease,  managed  to  eat  pork  and  beans  and 
potatoes,  while  Barbara  began  munching  the 
crisp  zwieback,  and  found  it  so  good  that  she 
made  her  supper  of  it. 

Ned  tried  to  coax  her  to  try  the  sauerkraut, 
which  he  declared  was  really  good  when  you 
got  used  to  it,  but  the  odor  of  it  was  so  un- 
pleasant to  her  that  she  could  n't  bring  her- 
self to  taste  it. 

While  they  had  been  eating,  the  woman  of 
the  house  had  been  busy  up  the  stairs,  and 
when  they  had  finished,  she  offered  to  show 
them  their  beds. 

Tired  and  sleepy,  they  all  climbed  the 
ladder-like  stairs,  and  found  themselves  in  an 
attic,  all  one  room,  with  two  beds,  and  dimly 
lighted  by  one  tallow  candle. 

Looks  of  dismay  passed  between  the  elders, 
while  Ned  cried,  "  By  George  !  "  and  Barbara 
burst  out,  "We  can't  sleep  here,  mother !" 

Then  her  mother  bethought  herself  that 
she  had  noticed  in  the  lower  room  a  large, 


238     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

old-fashioned  clothes-horse,  and  she  instantly 
thought  she  could  divide  the  dreary  attic  into 
two  rooms  with  it.  She  hushed  Barbara  and 
despatched  Ned  to  ask  for  it.  In  a  few 
moments  he  appeared,  carrying  it  with  the 
help  of  their  host,  whose  face  was  filled  with 
wonder  what  they  wanted  it  for. 

The  clothes-horse  was  about  six  feet  high, 
with  three  divisions  or  leaves.  Spread  out 
before  one  of  the  beds,  and  hung  with  sur- 
plus blankets  from  the  same  beds,  it  made  a 
very  good  screen.  Mrs.  Brainard  said,  "  I  '11 
take  Barbara,  and  you  two  boys  may  have 
the  other  bed;"  to  which  the  "boys"  laugh- 
ingly consented. 

The  beds  themselves  were  curiosities ;  great 
feather-beds  with  thinner  feather-beds  for 
coverlids,  and  quilts  and  blankets  enough  to 
smother  a  whole  family.  The  first  thing  Mrs. 
Brainard  did  was  to  drag  off  the  feather 
covers  from  both  beds. 

Barbara  thought  of  Mrs.  Blake's  feather- 
beds,  and  told  her  mother  about  them  while  she 
was  rummaging  in  one  of  the  traveling  bags. 


ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAY          239 

Soon  she  brought  to  light  a  tin  box,  from 
which  she  took  a  candle,  a  small  candlestick 
of  brass  that  came  apart  with  a  screw  so  as  to 
be  easily  packed,  and  a  box  of  matches. 

The  candle  siie  lighted  and  set  on  the  floor; 
there  was  not  a  table  or  chair  in  the  whole  attic ; 
they  were  obliged  to  hang  their  clothes  on  the 
bedposts,  which  were  four  or  five  feet  high. 

"  I  wonder  where  we  '11  wash  in  the  morn- 
ing," said  Barbara. 

"  Down  at  the  pump,  I  presume,"  answered 
her  mother. 

"  Well ;  it 's  a  good  thing  we  each  have  our 
own  soap  and  towels  and  things,"  said  Bar- 
bara. 

"  Of  course ;  I  never  travel  without  them," 
said  her  mother. 

"  What  else  have  you  got  in  that  box, 
mother?"  asked  Barbara.  "I  never  saw  it 
before." 

"  Oh,  you  '11  see  as  we  go  on  ;  perhaps  it  '11 
turn  out  to  be  like  the  famous  bag  of  the 
mother  in  the  ( Swiss  Family  Robinson.'  Do 
you  remember  that,  Barbara  ?  " 


240     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  said  Barbara,  much  inter- 
ested, for  she  was  very  fond  of  that  story. 
"  Let  me  take  the  box,  mother !  " 

"  No,  indeed  ;  there  would  n't  be  any  mys- 
tery about  it  if  you  pulled  it  over  now.  You 
wait  and  see  if  I  don't  take  out  of  it  every 
extra  thing  we  need  on  the  way."  And  now, 
blowing  out  the  light,  she  lay  down  and  tried 
to  sleep. 

"What  shall  we  do  if  it  rains  to-morrow?" 
Barbara  whispered  a  few  minutes  later.  "We 
can't  stay  here  !  " 

"Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof," 
said  Mrs.  Brainard,  quoting  a  favorite  text. 
"  And  now  do  go  to  sleep,  Barbara." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  MAGIC  BOX 

THE  first  thing  the  next  morning,  Barbara 
took  a  look  at  the  weather  from  the  little  win- 
dow in  the  attic. 

"  Mother !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  despairing 
tone,  "  it 's  raining  still !  " 

"Well,"  said  her  mother,  "then  we'll  have 
to  content  ourselves  here  awhile  longer." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  cried  Barbara. 

That,  too,  was  the  decision  of  her  father 
when  he  came  in  from  the  barn,  where  he 
and  Ned  had  been  caring  for  the  horses. 

Breakfast  was  a  repetition  of  supper,  with 
the  addition  of  hot  corn  bread.  Finding  that 
their  hosts  were  willing  to  keep  them  till  the 
storm  was  over,  they  settled  themselves  in  the 
big  kitchen.  Ned  found  an  old  German  news- 
paper from  which  he  tried  to  extract  amuse- 
ment, but  it  didn't  prove  to  be  very  funny, 
and  he  soon  threw  it  aside.  Barbara  fidgeted 


242     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

and  went  from  one  window  to  another,  hop- 
ing somewhere  to  see  a  break  in  the  clouds, 
and  her  father  was  almost  as  uneasy  as  she. 

Mrs.  Brainard  meanwhile  had  taken  from 
her  pocket  a  small  package,  which,  as  she 
opened,  showed  a  silk  purse  she  was  crochet- 
ing, and,  seating  herself  by  a  window,  she 
went  busily  to  work  on  it. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  a  little  later,  observing 
the  restlessness  of  her  family,  "  I  really  think 
boys  should  be  taught  some  light  handicraft 
—knitting,  for  instance;  if  now  you  two  rest- 
less '  boys '  could  occupy  your  hands  in  some 
useful  way,  how  much  happier  you  would  be ! " 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  suggestion, 
which  was  not  considered  serious. 

"  But  I  am  serious,"  she  said ;  "  I  really 
think  so." 

"Can't  somebody  tell  a  story?"  Barbara 
broke  in;  "I  love  stories  on  rainy  days  !" 

"And  all  other  days,  too,  I  guess,"  said 
her  mother. 

"  Well,  yes ;  I  do,"  said  Barbara. 

At  this  moment  a  thought  seemed  to  strike 


THE  MAGIC  BOX  243 

Mrs.  Brainard.  "  Ned,"  she  said,  "  will  you 
bring  me  that  traveling  bag  in  the  corner?" 
pointing  to  the  one  she  had  packed  upstairs, 
ready  for  the  start. 

Ned  brought  it,  saying,  "  What 's  the  little 
mother  going  to  do  ?  —  find  some  knitting  for 
1  us  boys'?" 

"  You  '11  see,"  said  his  mother,  with  a 
knowing  smile.  "  I  'm  going  to  see  if  I  can't 
find  some  cure  for  all  this  discontent,  in  my 
S.  F.  R.  box." 

"What  box  is  that?"  asked  Ned.  "What 
do  those  mysterious  letters  mean?" 

Mrs.  Brainard  was  busily  rummaging  in  the 
bag,  and  Barbara  answered,  "  They  stand  for 
Swiss  Family  Robinson  box;  you've  read 
that  book,  haven't  you,  Ned?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Ned  scornfully;  "every- 
body has." 

"Well,  you  remember  the  bag  the  mother 
had,  out  of  which  she  pulled  everything  they 
wanted." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  mother  has  a  box  something  like 


244     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

that,  and  she  took  out  of  it  the  candle  and 
matches  we  had  last  night;  she  wouldn't  let 
me  see  what  was  in  it." 

"I  had  to  have  a  box,"  said  his  mother, 
"  partly  because  a  bag  would  be  crushed  in 
packing  this  way,  and  partly  because  I  wanted 
to  lock  it  so  that  its  treasures  should  not  be 
overhauled  at  once,"  with  a  smile  at  Barbara, 
who  blushed. 

"That  was  very  clever  of  you,  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Brainard. 

Mrs.  Brainard,  who  had  now  found  the  box, 
took  a  key  from  her  pocket  and  opened  it. 

Barbara  and  Ned  crowded  around,  but  she 
laughingly  shielded  it  so  that  they  could  not 
look  in,  while  she  drew  out  what  appeared  to 
be  several  printed  pages  of  a  magazine.  Then 
she  locked  the  box  and  returned  the  key  to 
her  pocket. 

"Speaking  of  stories—  she  said,  "re- 
minded me  that  I  had  prepared,  for  such  a 
catastrophe  as  this  storm,  a  story  which  I  will 
read  if  the  company  desire." 

"  Oh,  do !  "  cried  Barbara  and  Ned  in  a 


THE  MAGIC  BOX  245 

breath,  and  Mr.  Brainard  left  the  window  and 
seated  himself  to  listen. 

Mrs.  Brainard  began,  "  This  is  a  Thanks- 
giving story  — 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  cried  Barbara  and  Ned,  while 
their  father  laughed. 

"  And  it  begins  in  the  poorhouse  —  "  went 
on  Mrs.  Brainard  calmly. 

"Now,  mother!"  protested  Barbara;  while 
Ned  added,  "Aren't  we  dismal  enough  here 
without  taking  us  into  such  a  place  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brainard  did  not  reply,  but  quietly 
began  to  read  :  "  Thanksgiving  Cottage." 

Her  story  was  a  long  one,  —  of  a  woman, 
who,  from  being  an  inmate  of  a  poorhouse, 
came  —  on  a  certain  Thanksgiving  Day  —  to 
have  a  home  and  a  cottage  of  her  own. 

When  the  story  was  ended,  Barbara,  with 
shining  eyes,  and  the  air  of  having  made  a  dis- 
covery, exclaimed,  almost  tragically,  "  Mother, 
did  you  write  that  story?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother,  smiling; 
"my  daughter  is  the  only  story-maker  in  the 
family." 


246     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Barbara  blushed,  and  Ned  looked  on  with 
interest.  "  What  do  you  mean,  mother  ?  does 
sis  write  stories  ?  " 

"Not  yet,  perhaps,"  said  his  mother,  "but 
I  think  she  will  some  day." 

"Good  for  you,  sis!"  said  Ned  warmly; 
"but  who  did  write  the  story,  then?" 

"  It  was  written  by  one  of  my  friends  and 
published  in  a  magazine  a  good  many  years 
ago,  and  I  happen  to  know  it  was  true." 

Mr.  Brainard,  who  had  resumed  his  watch- 
ing of  the  clouds,  now  announced  cheerfully 
that  the  rain  was  nearly  over,  and  they  would 
soon  be  able  to  resume  their  journey. 

"  Wife,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  when  at  last 
they  had  really  started  on  their  way,  leaving 
their  hosts  smiling  on  the  steps,  "  what  do 
you  suppose  our  good  old  Dutchman  charged 
for  our  entertainment  ?  " 

"What  did  he?"  asked  she,  with  interest. 

"  Twenty-five  cents  for  each  of  us  four,  and 
ten  cents  for  each  horse." 

"You  don 't  mean —  "  said  Mrs.  Brainard, 


THE  MAGIC  BOX  247 

astonished,  —  "  you  don't  really  mean  twenty- 
five  cents  for  supper,  bed,  and  breakfast ! " 

"  I  do,  indeed !  "  was  the  answer ;  "  and  he 
would  n't  take  more,  though  I  offered  it,  for  I 
was  ashamed  to  give  him  so  little." 

"  Well,  I  think  that  was  enough !  "  said 
Barbara  hotly;  "  such  a  place !  and  such  things 
to  eat ! " 

"  So  do  I,  sis,"  said  Ned. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  find  any  worse  place 
than  that,"  said  the  mother.  "  It  was  at  least 
clean,  and  we  were  welcome." 

"  How  soon  do  you  think  we  shall  get  to 
Buffalo,  father?"  asked  Barbara,  who  was 
anxious  to  get  that  new  bonnet  before  meet- 
ing anybody. 

"  Sometime  this  afternoon,  I  hope,  if  the 
roads  are  tolerable." 

At  Buffalo  they  were  to  take  a  steamer 
around  the  lakes,  and  let  the  horses  as  well  as 
themselves  have  a  rest,  and  Barbara  knew  they 
would  meet  nice  people  on  the  boat;  hence 
her  anxiety. 


CHAPTER  XXVin 

CAMPING  OUT 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  the  little  party  reached 
Buffalo,  and  after  leaving  the  family  and 
horses  at  a  hotel,  Mr.  Brainard  went  to  see 
about  the  steamer.  He  found  that  it  would 
not  start  until  the  next  evening,  so  they  took 
rooms  at  the  hotel  for  the  night. 

"  Now,  sis,"  said  Ned,  as  soon  as  they  were 
settled,  "  let 's  go  after  that  bonnet." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  out  with  this  thing  on  my 
head,"  said  Barbara,  almost  in  tears. 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  pick  out  a  bon- 
net," said  Ned,  "  and  besides,  I  'm  afraid  to  go 
into  a  bonnet  shop  alone  !  "  he  added,  with  a 
quizzical  look. 

"  Mother,  you  go  ! "  coaxed  Barbara. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ned,  "that  '11  do  nicely." 

Mrs.  Brainard  paused  in  the  act  of  taking 
off  her  bonnet.  "  Perhaps  that  will  be  best," 
she  said,  starting  off  at  once  with  Ned. 


CAMPING  OUT  249 

"  Be  sure  you  get  blue  ribbons,"  was  Bar- 
bara's last  charge,  as  they  left  the  room. 

The  trip  around  the  lakes  was  without  spe- 
cial interest ;  Barbara,  with  her  pretty  new 
bonnet,  which  happened  to  just  suit  her,  was 
happy,  and  enjoyed  every  minute. 

One  bright  morning  they  arrived  at  Chi- 
cago, and  very  different  it  was  from  the 
Chicago  of  to-day.  The  oldest  resident  would 
hardly  recognize  it,  though  he  might  remem- 
ber it. 

The  first  thing  our  travelers  noticed  was 
old  Fort  Dearborn,  standing  near  where  they 
landed  from  the  steamer.  It  had  been  made 
in  Indian  times,  and  looked  like  the  pictures 
one  sees  of  block  forts,  the  upper  part  project- 
ing over  the  lower,  so  that  the  doors  could  be 
defended.  Ned  and  Barbara  examined  this 
with  great  interest. 

When  the  horses  and  carriage  were  safely 
landed,  the  party  started  up  toward  the  Tre- 
mont  House,  where  they  were  to  stay  while  in 
Chicago. 

"  Oh,  what  a  funny  street ! "    cried  Bar- 


250     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

bara,  as  they  turned  into  the  main  thorough- 
fare. 

The  street  was  paved — if  one  may  call  it 
so  —  with  planks  across  its  whole  width,  and 
the  sidewalks,  of  planks  also,  were  two  or  three 
feet  higher  than  the  bed  of  the  roadway,  with 
a  flight  of  steps  at  each  crossing.  Between 
the  roadway  and  the  sidewalk  it  was  boarded 
up,  so  that  the  street  looked  like  a  long,  nar- 
row wooden  box. 

As  they  drove  along  they  saw  the  reason 
for  this  peculiar  arrangement,  for  under  the 
feet  of  the  horses  as  well  as  under  the  wheels, 
water  spurted  up  between  the  planks,  which 
bent  with  their  weight.  It  was  plain  that  but 
for  the  planks  the  street  would  be  all  under 
water  and  impassable. 

When  they  reached  the  Tremont  House, 
they  were  surprised  to  see  it  standing  up  on 
stilts ;  for  it  was  being  raised  —  lifted  bodily 
out  of  the  mud  by  hundreds  of  screws.  As 
they  drew  up  before  the  door,  Barbara  cried 
out,  - 

"  Oh,  father!  you  are  n't  going  to  stop  here ! " 


CAMPING  OUT  251 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  her  father. 

"  But  it  must  be  very  dangerous !  "  she  went 
on  anxiously;  "  suppose  it  should  fall !  " 

"  How  could  it  fall  with  all  those  screws 
holding  it  up  ?  Don't  be  foolish,  daughter ! 
Don't  you  suppose  they  '11  take  care  to  make 
it  safe?" 

Barbara  said  no  more,  but  she  did  not  like 
it,  and  with  fear  and  trembling  climbed  the 
temporary  steps  that  led  to  the  door. 

When  the  carriage  appeared  at  the  door  the 
next  morning,  to  continue  their  journey,  Bar- 
bara noticed  more  baggage  on  the  back;  a 
great  bundle,  bigger  than  the  traveling  bags, 
was  strapped  on  behind  them,  and  two  pails 
were  hung  below. 

"  Why,  father !  "  exclaimed  Barbara,  in  sur- 
prise. 

Her  father  smiled.  "  I  '11  tell  you  aU  about 
it  when  we  get  off,"  he  said. 

When  they  had  left  the  city  and  were  speed- 
ing over  the  pleasant  prairie  roads,  the  horses 
evidently  glad  to  be  on  the  earth  after  their 
lake  journey,  and  all  the  family  happy  also, 


252     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Mr.  Brainard  turned  to  the  two  on  the  back 
seat  and  said,  - 

"  I  had  some  talk  with  a  man  on  the  steamer 
who  had  just  come  over  this  road,  and  he  told 
me  there  had  been  heavy  rains  lately,  so  we 
might  find  it  slow  traveling ;  and  as  there  were 
long  distances  between  towns,  he  advised  me 
to  be  prepared  to  camp  out  if  necessary." 

"  Camp  out !  won't  that  be  fun  ! "  cried  Bar- 
bara, delighted. 

"  Sure  it  will !  "  said  Ned,  looking  around ; 
"  greatest  fun  going  !  " 

Mrs.  Brainard  was  not  so  elated ;  she  looked 
concerned  at  the  prospect. 

"  What  did  you  bring  ?  "  asked  Barbara  ex- 
citedly. "  I  hope  a  kettle  to  hang  over  our  fire 
—  and  a  tent  —  and —  " 

"  No,  indeed ! "  interrupted  her  father, "  I  did 
not  prepare  for  days  and  nights  of  camping,  — 
only,  possibly,  for  one  night ;  and  I  brought 
only  what  will  be  indispensable,  —  some  blan- 
kets for  us,  and  feed  for  the  horses.  I  hope  we 
shall  not  be  obliged  to  use  them,"  he  went  on. 

"  These  great  desolate  prairies,"  said  Mrs. 


CAMPING  OUT  253 

Brainard,  "are  dreary  enough;  are  there  no 
wild  animals  to  disturb  us  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Brainard  ;  "possibly 
a  prairie  wolf  or  two,  but  they  are  easily  scared 
off." 

"  Shall  we  have  a  fire  ? "  asked  Barbara 
eagerly. 

"  Of  course,"  said  her  father.  "  Who  ever 
heard  of  camping  without  a  fire?  We  must 
look  out  for  some  trees  or  brush,  if  we  have  to 
stop." 

Barbara's  idea  of  camping  was  taken  from 
stories  she  had  read,  of  jolly  parties  around  a 
big  fire,  much  talk  and  fun,  and  very  little 
sleep ;  and  all  day  she  was  hoping  for  bad  roads 
or  an  over-full  river,  which  would  oblige  them 
to  stop  for  the  night. 

But  the  roads  were  good  and  they  came  to 
no  stream,  but  drew  up  just  at  dusk  to  a  com- 
fortable-looking little  inn,  where  they  stopped, 
greatly  to  the  relief  of  Barbara's  mother,  who 
did  not  share  her  enthusiasm  about  camping. 

The  next  day,  however,  things  were  a  little 
more  promising  for  Barbara's  hopes.  The 


254     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

roads  were  heavy  from  late  rains,  and  their 
progress  was  slow,  so  that  it  was  some  time 
after  noon  before  they  reached  a  farmhouse 
where  they  could  get  dinner.  The  farmer  told 
a  rather  discouraging  story  about  the  roads 
farther  west,  and  especially  about  the  flood  in 
the  river  they  would  have  to  cross.  The  bridge, 
he  had  heard,  was  gone ;  but  there  was  a  ford, 
if  the  water  was  n't  too  high.  Barbara's  eyes 
sparkled  as  she  listened,  and  her  father  asked 
about  inns  or  farmhouses  where  they  could 
stop  on  the  way. 

Mrs.  Brainard  said  nothing,  but  she  had  a 
long  interview  in  the  pantry  with  the  farmer's 
wife,  while  the  rest  were  gathered  around  the 
great  fireplace  in  the  kitchen ;  and  after  din- 
ner, when  the  horses  were  brought  to  the  door, 
Barbara  saw  the  farmer  slip  a  large  package 
under  the  back  seat.  In  her  excitement,  how- 
ever, listening  to  the  farmer's  last  directions 
about  the  road,  she  forgot  it,  and  did  not  think 
of  it  again. 

As  they  went  on  they  found  that  their  host 
had  not  said  too  much  about  the  roads.  It 


CAMPING  OUT  255 

grew  steadily  worse  from  the  moment  they 
left  his  fences  behind.  There  were  deep  ruts 
in  which  the  wheels  almost  stuck ;  holes  in  the 
stiffened  mud,  in  which  the  feet  of  the  horses 
slipped  and  nearly  threw  them  down ;  now  and 
then  a  puddle  stretched  across  the  way  from 
one  side  to  the  other,  into  which  the  horses 
seemed  afraid  to  venture,  and  which  indeed 
looked  as  if  it  might  be  very  deep. 

Worst  of  all  were  the  frequent  holes,  into 
which  one  wheel  would  slip  up  to  the  hub  and 
threaten  to  upset  the  carriage.  Through  all 
this  the  horses  went  floundering,  often  just 
saving  themselves  from  a  fall,  while  the  car- 
riage lunged  this  way  and  that,  one  moment 
throwing  the  passengers  in  a  heap  towards 
the  front,  and  the  next  dashing  their  heads 
against  the  side. 

Ned  had  left  the  carriage  at  the  beginning 
of  trouble,  and  was  plodding  along  beside  the 
road,  picking  his  way  with  great  difficulty 
through  the  mud.  Barbara  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  walk,  too,  and  even  Mrs.  Brainard 
wanted  to  relieve  the  carriage  of  her  weight, 


256     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

although  there  was  no  sign  of  a  path  or  even 
of  a  dry  place  to  be  seen. 

Mr.  Brainard  would  not  consent  to  this. 
"  Look  at  Ned,"  he  said ; "  even  he  finds  it  very 
hard ;  how  could  you  two  get  along  in  your 
light  shoes  and  dresses?  No;  we  must  do 
the  best  we  can,  and  hope  it  will  not  last  very 
long." 

It  did  last,  however,  —  so  long  that  it  was 
nearly  dark  when  they  reached  the  river  they 
had  to  cross,  and  found  no  bridge  and  the  usu- 
ally meek  little  stream  a  roaring  torrent. 

"  It  is  plain  we  cannot  cross  to-night,"  said 
Mr.  Brainard.  "  We  are  fortunate  in  having  a 
little  clump  of  trees  and  bushes  here.  I  think, 
daughter,  you  '11  have  a  chance  to  try  camp- 
ing out." 

"  Do  you,  father  ?  "  said  Barbara  rather 
ruefully;  "but  this  isn't  a  nice  place  —  so 
bare  and  open  !  " 

"  What  did  you  expect?  "  asked  her  father. 

"  Oh,  woods ;  thick  trees  and  bushes  to  hide 
us  a  little." 

"  Well,  we  '11  have  to  take  it  as  we  find  it," 


CAMPING  OUT  257 

said  her  father ;  "  the  worst  thing  is  we  have  n't 
anything  to  eat,  and  I  suppose  you  young- 
sters are  half  starved." 

Barbara's  face  fell,  and  Ned  made  up  a  wry 
mouth. 

"Mother,"  said  Barbara,  " where 's  the 
magic  box  —  the  S.  F.  R.  box,  out  of  which  is 
to  come  everything?" 

"I  shall  produce  it  all  in  good  time,"  said 
her  mother, "  when  you  get  a  good  fire  going." 

Ned  and  Barbara  hurried  off  to  the  bushes 
to  cut  and  break  branches,  while  Mr.  Brainard, 
having  driven  a  little  one  side  out  of  the 
road,  unhitched  and  partly  unharnessed  the 
weary  horses,  and  placed  before  each  a  pail 
containing  his  food.  Bob  and  Bill  looked  al- 
most as  much  surprised  to  discover  their  usual 
supper  in  this  unusual  place  as  was  Mrs. 
Brainard,  who  said,  — 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  thought  of  their  comfort 
-  poor  fellows  !  they  have  had  a  hard  day  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  "  it  is  far  better 
for  us  to  go  hungry  than  for  them,  though  I  'm 
sorry  I  did  forget  about  luncheon  for  us." 


258     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Mrs.  Brainard  smiled,  and  just  then  Barbara 
came  up  and  announced  with  triumph,  — 

"  Now,  Mrs.  S.  F.  R.,  we  have  the  fire  started 
—  produce  your  magic  box  !  " 

"  You  '11  find  it  under  the  back  seat,"  said 
her  mother  quietly. 

Barbara  looked  for  a  minute  as  if  she  feared 
her  mother  had  lost  her  wits ;  then  in  a  flash 
she  remembered  the  farmer  and  the  package, 
and  rushing  to  the  carriage,  she  pulled  out  the 
package,  and  brought  it  to  her  mother,  while 
they  all  gathered  close  around  the  fire. 

It  was  soon  opened  and  spread  out  on  a 
newspaper :  several  slices  of  cold  boiled  ham, 
a  small  pan  of  baked  beans,  half  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  —  "  Oh,  jolly  ! "  cried  Ned  —  a 
dozen  real  home-made  doughnuts. 

"  Truly,  mother,  you  are  a  witch ! "  cried 
Ned  with  mouth  full  of  bread.  "  Did  it  occur 
to  you,  Madam  S.  F.  R.,  that  we  're  not  used 
to  eating  beans  with  our  fingers  ?  " 

"  It  did,  my  son,"  she  answered  with  a  merry 
gleam  in  her  eye.  "  Get  out  the  box  and  we  '11 
see  what  we  can  find !  " 


CAMPING  OUT  259 

Soon  the  magic  box  was  in  her  hands,  and 
opening  it  she  drew  out  a  small  package  which 
proved  to  be  four  teaspoons. 

"  Well,  by  jingo  !  "  exclaimed  Ned.  "  You 
surely  must  be  a  witch,  mother." 

On  pieces  of  newspaper  for  plates  the  meal 
was  served,  and  ah1  ate  heartily,  for  the  hard 
ride  had  sharpened  their  appetites. 

"  You  don't  happen  to  have  a  silver  goblet 
or  two  secreted  about  you,  Madam  Witch?" 
said  Ned  when  he  had  finished  his  supper.  "  I 
should  like  a  drink  from  that  flowing  bowl  out 
there,"  pointing  to  the  raging  river. 

"  Well,  no  ;  but  let's  search  the  box  again." 

"  They  must  be  of  India-rubber  if  they  're 
in  there,"  said  Ned,  and  his  eyes  opened  wide 
as  she  took  out  a  small  bunch  of  rings,  which, 
being  stretched  out,  became  a  silver  cup.  Ned 
seized  it  with  glee,  ran  down  to  the  stream, 
and  returned  bearing  it  full  to  the  brim. 

"  First  drink  to  you,  mother  S.  F.  R.,"  he 
cried  gallantly. 

When  they  had  finished  their  picnic  meal, 
Ned  brought  out  the  bundle  of  blankets,  and 


260     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

they  began  to  think  of  bed.  All  this  time  Bar- 
bara had  been  very  still,  and  Ned  observed 
that  she  glanced  around  behind  her  now  and 
then. 

"  Don't  find  it  so  jolly  as  you  expected,  sis?  ' 
he  began. 

"  It 's  so  awfully  lonely,"  said  Barbara,  shud- 
dering and  glancing  around. 

"It  mostly  is  lonely  at  night  out  in  the 
open,"  said  Ned.  "  I  hope  there  are  no  bears 
around  here,"  he  added  wickedly. 

"  Oh,  Ned !  "  Barbara  cried,  jumping  to  her 
feet. 

"  Ned !  "  said  his  father  reprovingly,  "don't 
tease  your  sister.  I  told  you,  daughter" 
turning  to  her — "that  there  are  no  wild  ani- 
mals in  this  part  of  the  country,  except  per- 
haps a  few  coyotes,  and  they  won't  come  near 
a  fire." 

Just  then  there  was  a  rustling  sound,  and  a 
loud  "  Whoo-o-o  ! "  almost  over  their  heads. 
Barbara  screamed. 

"  An  owl,  by  jingo ! "  cried  Ned;  "if  I  only 
had  a  gun !  Father,  did  n't  you  bring  a  pistol  ?  " 


CAMPING  OUT  261 

"  I  did ;  but  I  shall  not  let  you  have  it. 
Why  should  you  shoot  a  harmless  owl  ?  " 

"  Because  he  frightens  my  little  sister,"  said 
Ned  demurely. 

"  No,"  said  Barbara,  ashamed  of  her  fright, 
"  don't  hurt  him  !  I  might  have  known  what 
it  was ;  but  I  never  heard  that  kind ;  around 
Uncle  Karl's  we  had  screech  owls,  and  I  love 
to  hear  them." 

While  this  was  going  on,  a  level  place  close 
to  the  fire  had  been  selected,  a  few  branches 
spread  down  to  keep  the  blankets  from  the 
bare  ground,  and  Mrs.  Brainard  and  Barbara 
invited  to  take  each  a  blanket  to  wrap  herself 
in,  while  Ned  and  his  father  prepared  more 
wood  to  keep  the  fire  going. 

"  Ned  and  I  '11  take  turns  in  watching  and 
keeping  up  the  fire,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  "  you 
two  try  to  get  some  sleep." 

"  I  shall  take  my  turn  too,"  said  Mrs.  Brain- 
ard. 

"And  I  too,"  said  Barbara  rather  feebly, 
for  she  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  sitting  up 
there  in  the  black  night  alone. 


262     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

The  father  and  mother  exchanged  glances, 
for  it  had  not  escaped  their  notice  that  Bar- 
bara was  n't  so  enthusiastic  about  camping 
out  as  she  had  been  in  the  morning  and  by 
daylight. 

"I'll  take  the  first  watch  if  you  don't 
mind,"  said  Ned.  "  I  'm  used  to  sitting  up  late, 
and  shall  not  be  sleepy  for  some  time." 

So  it  was  settled ;  the  father  arid  mother 
and  Barbara,  wrapped  in  blankets,  looking  like 
so  many  mummies,  stretched  themselves  on  the 
blanket  beds  and  were  quiet,  but  not  asleep. 
Barbara,  crowded  close  to  her  mother,  lay  lis- 
tening—  hearing  strange  rustling  and  other 
sounds.  Once  some  feathery  object  — perhaps 
the  owl  whose  cry  had  startled  her  —  swept 
over  her  so  near  that  his  wings  fanned  her, 
and  in  a  moment  she  heard  the  death  squeak 
of  a  mouse  close  by  her.  Then  she  heard 
stealthy  footsteps,  and  suddenly  Ned,  snatch- 
ing a  blazing  stick  from  the  fire,  flung  it  far 
oil,  and  the  steps  ran. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A  NIGHT  SCARE 

SLEEP  did  not  come  readily  to  the  campers, 
and  they  had  not  been  long  lying  down  when 
they  heard  the  far-off  sound  of  wheels.  Nearer 
and  nearer  they  came.  Mr.  Brainard  was  up, 
listening  and  trying  to  see  what  was  coming 
along  the  dark  road. 

"  It 's  a  heavy  team,"  said  Ned  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Who  can  be  traveling  this  dark  night  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Brainard. 

In  a  few  moments  it  came  in  sight,  a  "  prai- 
rie schooner,"  —  a  big,  white-covered  lumber 
wagon  in  which  immigrants  cross  the  plains  or 
move  from  one  place  to  another,  with  all  their 
family  possessions,  from  the  great  chests  they 
brought  from  the  "  old  country  "  down  to  the 
latest  baby. 

The  big  clumsy  wagon  was  drawn  by  a 
pair  of  tired-looking  mules,  and  a  man  walked 


264     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

beside  them.  Near  the  fire  he  halted  his  team, 
and  now  appeared,  on  the  front  seat,  a  girl 
younger  than  Barbara.  She  jumped  down  as 
the  mules  stopped,  and  with  the  man  came  to 
the  fire.  Mr.  Brainard  was  standing  to  meet 
them,  and  now  Barbara  and  her  mother  were 
both  sitting  up. 

"  Wall,  stranger,"  said  the  newcomer  with 
strong  "  down-East "  twang,  "  you  du  seem 
tol'ble  comf't'ble  here." 

"  It 's  a  strange  hour  to  be  traveling, 
friend,"  said  Mr.  Brainard. 

"  So  it  is  —  so  it  is  !  "  said  the  man  good- 
naturedly,  warming  his  hands  at  the  fire, "  an' 
I  sh'd  'a'  camped  a  piece  back  —  soon  's  I 
got  out  o'  that  dod-darndist  bit  o'  road  I  ever 
come  acrost  —  only  Liddy  here  —  she  seen 
your  fire  an'  wanted  to  come  on  ;  an'  it  is  more 
sociable-like  to  be  near  folks  in  this  lonesome 
country.  Say,  stranger  —  "  with  new  interest 
—  "  did  you  ford  them  pot-holes  back  there  V 
not  break  anything  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  "  we  got  through 
safely." 


A  NIGHT  SCARE  265 

"  Wall,  if  you  don't  object  we  '11  stop  right 
here  alongside ;  I  '11  help  keep  up  the  fire.  It 's 
kinder  lonesome  for  Liddy  off  alone.  Liddy  'n' 
me 's  all  'ts  left  now  to  take  care  o'  the  children 
— ma  she  died  back  there  in  Pennsylvany  a 
spell  back." 

"  Children !  "  cried  Mrs.  Brainard,  now  ris- 
ing to  her  feet,  "  have  you  children  here  ?  " 

"  Four  on  'em,  ma'am,"  said  the  man,  "  all 
asleep  in  the  wagon." 

"  My  goodness  !  "  said  Mrs.  Brainard.  "You 
poor  child !  "  turning  to  the  girl,  who  stood 
by  the  fire,  staring  wide-eyed  at  the  group, 
"you  have  the  care  of  four  children?  Why, 
you  're  only  a  child  yourself !  " 

"  Liddy  's  quite  a  little  woman,"  broke  in 
the  man,  while  the  girl  said  meekly,  "  I  'm  all 
they  has,  ma'am,  —  'n  I  does  the  best  I  can." 

"  No  doubt  you  do,"  said  Mrs.  Brainard. 
"  Will  you  come  and  sit  by  the  fire?  Here's 
my  daughter,  not  much  older  than  you." 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other,  but 
Lydia  said  quietly,  "  Thank  you,  ma'am,  but  I 
must  get  into  the  wagon  with  the  children." 


266     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

"  Do  you  all  sleep  in  the  wagon  ?  "  asked 

Mrs.  Brainard,  amazed. 

% 

"  All  but  pa,"  said  Lydia,  —  "  he  stays  by 
the  mules." 

"  Have  you  had  your  supper?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Brainard,  much  interested  in  the  little  mother, 
so  much  a  child,  yet  so  womanly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am !  we  had  it  'way  back  be- 
fore the  children  went  to  bed,"  was  her  reply, 
as  she  turned  to  go  to  the  wagon. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Brainard,  as  the  man 
came  back  from  taking  care  of  his  mules, 
"  we  '11  see  more  of  you  in  the  morning,"  and 
she  wrapped  herself  again  in  her  blanket  and 
lay  down. 

Ned  too  flung  himself  onto  his  blankets, 
but  the  two  men  sat  by  the  fire  talking  in  low 
tones  for  some  time.  At  last  all  except  Mr. 
Brainard,  whose  watch  it  was,  were  lying  down 
and  at  least  trying  to  sleep. 

For  a  long  time  everything  was  still  except 
the  crackling  of  the  fire,  and  Mr.  Brainard 
himself  was  nodding,  when  a  gentle  patter  like 
soft  footsteps  began  to  make  itself  heard  by 


A  NIGHT  SCENE  267 

those  who  were  awake.  Mrs.  Brainard  sat  up, 
but  her  husband,  now  wide  awake,  motioned 
her  to  be  silent. 

Nearer  came  the  sound ;  it  was  evidently 
made  by  soft  footsteps,  and  as  he  listened  Mr. 
Brainard  thought  there  were  many  of  them.  "  A 
pack  of  coyotes,"  he  thought ;  "  a  firebrand 
will  scare  them."  He  carefully  selected  from 
the  fire  a  suitable  stick  all  blazing  at  one  end, 
and  when  they  seemed  quite  near,  he  hurled  it 
far  off  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  There 
was  a  cry  and  a  scamper,  and  he  smiled  to 
think  how  easily  he  had  routed  them.  Mrs. 
Brainard  lay  down  again. 

In  a  moment  there  arose  from  the  opposite 
direction  long,  quavering  cries,  sounds  to 
chill  one's  blood,  and  so  loud  that  instantly 
every  one  was  up.  It  seemed  to  be  from  a 
hundred  throats. 

"  Oh,  what 's  that  ?  "  cried  Barbara  and  her 
mother  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Only  coyotes,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Brainard, 
to  quiet  them,  though  in  his  heart  he  had 
doubts,  especially  as  the  horses  showed  uneas- 


268     WHAT   HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

iness,  snorting  and  prancing  around,  appar- 
ently trying  to  get  away.  He  rose  to  go  to 
them,  to  quiet  them,  and  found  the  Pennsylva- 
nia man  at  his  side. 

"  Them 's  no  kiotys,"  he  whispered.  "  Got  a 
gun,  mister?  We  won't  scare  the  women  if  we 
can  help  it,  but  we  'd  best  be  ready." 

"I  have  a  pistol,"  said  Mr.  Brainard. 
"  What  do  you  suppose  they  are  ?  " 

"Them's  mountain  lions  —  or  I  lose  my 
guess  —  'r  maybe  wildcats." 

"I  understood,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  "we  had 
only  coyotes  to  fear." 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Much 
they  knows  back  there,  snug  in  their  own 
houses,  what 's  prowling  round  in  the  night ! 
Now  I  've  got  a  good  gun,  an'  I  guess  with 
your  toy  shooter  we  can  give  'ein  all  they 
want."  So  saying,  he  threw  a  pile  of  the 
branches  he  had  been  gathering  onto  the  fire. 
"  We  'd  best  have  a  good  light ;  fire 's  about 
the  only  thing  they  're  af  eared  on  !  "  he  went 
on. 

By  this  time  Barbara  and  her  mother  and 


A  NIGHT  SCENE  269 

Lydia  from  the  wagon  were  standing  by  the 
men,  terrified  almost  out  of  their  wits.  Ned 
had  armed  himself  with  the  stoutest  stick  he 
could  find  in  the  pile  of  branches  they  had 
brought  for  the  fire,  and  there  the  little  band 
stood,  waiting,  while  the  horses  and  mules 
were  making  a  great  commotion. 

Soon  the  watchers  could  see  dark  forms  — 
a  thousand  of  them,  as  it  seemed  —  drawing 
near. 

"  Wait  till  we  can  see  their  eyes,"  said  Mr. 
Brainard,  "and,  Ned,  you  pull  out  some  fire- 
brands; when  I  give  the  word  all  together 
let  fly  at  them,  shouting  at  the  same  time." 

Ned  did  as  his  father  said,  and  Barbara 
joined  him,  pulling  out  two  blazing  brands, 
one  for  each  hand,  and  Lydia,  who  had  crept 
up  quite  near,  did  the  same. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  enemy,  till  the 
men  could  see  the  gleam  of  eyes.  Then  the 
animals  —  whatever  they  were  —  came  a  little 
slower,  plainly  did  not  like  fire. 

Then  Mr.  Brainard  shouted,  — 

"Fire  all!" 


270     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

Instantly  followed  two  shots  and  six  burn- 
ing brands  hurled  wildly  towards  the  advan- 
cing party,  while  savage  yells  from  six  vigor- 
ous throats  filled  the  air  with  hideous  din. 

This  was  too  much  !  No  animal  could  stand 
such  an  attack  !  With  cries  of  rage  the  band 
wheeled  and  fled,  and  the  little  party  of  travel- 
ers burst  into  an  irrepressible  laugh  at  the  total 
rout  of  the  foe. 

They  returned  to  their  blankets  and  their 
fire,  but  there  was  not  much  sleep  for  them. 
The  two  men  reloaded  their  weapons  and  re- 
plenished the  fire,  but  they  sat  beside  it  and 
talked  the  rest  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

FORDING  THE  RIVER 

"WELL,  daughter,"  said  Barbara's  father, 
when  she  rose  from  her  hard  bed,  and  threw 
off  her  blanket  just  as  the  sun  was  rising, 
"  how  do  you  like  camping  out  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit !"  she  said  emphatically.  "I've 
had  enough  to  last  all  my  life." 

"  Well,  the  next  thing  is  to  get  across  this 
river,"  said  he  laughing. 

"  First,"  said  Mrs.  Brainard,  "  we  better 
eat  what  we  have  left  over,  by  way  of  break- 
fast. See  —  "  she  added  in  lower  tone,  "  our 
neighbors  are  already  up  and  doing." 

Barbara  looked  over  to  where  stood  the 
wagon  of  their  fellow  travelers ;  a  small  fire 
was  burning,  and  over  it  hung  a  kettle  held 
by  two  forked  stakes  with  a  stick  across  them. 
Around  it  on  the  ground  sat  four  poorly  clad 
children,  while  Lydia  was  filling  their  bowls 
from  the  kettle.  The  father  was  harnessing 


272     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

his  mules,  and  evidently  preparing  for  an 
early  start. 

"  We  better  follow  his  example,"  said  Mr. 
Brainard,  "so  that  we  can  help  each  other 
across  the  ford —  if  help  is  needed." 

Accordingly  they  hurriedly  ate  what  was 
left  of  the  night's  luncheon,  and  Ned  and  his 
father  brought  the  horses,  while  Barbara  and 
her  mother  rolled  up  the  blankets. 

"  We  must  see  that  the  fire  is  all  out,"  said 
Mrs.  Brainard,  "  we  don't  want  to  start  a  fire 
among  these  bushes." 

A  pail  of  water  from  the  river  finished  the 
last  sparks  of  the  fire,  and  before  the  sun  was 
far  on  his  way  overhead  the  two  teams  were 
ready  to  attempt  the  dangerous-looking  ford. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Ned  to  his  father,  "  we 
must  have  killed  something  last  night ;  I  guess 
I  '11  go  and  see." 

"  Well,  go,"  said  his  father  ;  "  we  're  not 
quite  ready  to  start." 

Ned  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  the  affray. 
He  was  gone  some  time,  and  returned  with  a 
queer  look  on  his  face.  His  father  looked  his 


FORDING  THE   RIVER  273 

question  and  Ned  —  as  he  hurried  past  him 
to  take  his  place  in  the  carriage  —  whispered 
only  one  word,  — 

"  Coyotes." 

The  rest  of  the  party  had  decided  that  the 
foe  could  only  be  mountain  lions,  and  he  let 
them  remain  in  their  delusion. 

The  two  teams  were  soon  at  the  ford.  The 
water  had  gone  down  a  good  deal,  and  Mr. 
Brainard  thought  it  would  be  safe,  though  of 
course  he  did  not  know  how  deep  it  was.  At 
any  rate  it  must  be  passed,  so  he  started  his 
horses  down  the  bank. 

"  If  the  water  comes  up  into  the  box,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  "  you  and  Barbara  get  up  on 
the  seat  so  as  not  to  wet  your  feet." 

"  Oh  dear  !  I  hope  it  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Brai- 
nard, "for  that  will  wet  our  baggage  on  the 
rack." 

Bob  and  Bill  did  n't  much  like  wading  into 
this  rapidly  running  water,  and  they  hesitated 
on  the  brink,  looking  very  much  as  if  they 
meant  to  turn  around  and  go  the  other  way. 
Then  Ned  sprang  out  and  ran  to  their  heads. 


274     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

«  I  '11  lead  them,  father,"  he  said,  "  and  if  I 
go  ahead  we  shall  see  how  deep  it  is,  and  if  it 
is  safe." 

"  But,  Ned !  "  cried  his  mother,  "  you  '11  get 
wet! " 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall,"  said  Ned,  laughing, 
"  one  generally  does  in  the  water." 

"  And  you  may  be  swept  away,"  she  went 
on  anxiously,  "  it  runs  so  fast." 

"  I  can  swim,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
worry." 

"  Hold  fast  to  the  horses  if  you  're  swept 
off  your  feet,  my  boy,"  called  Mr.  Brainard, 
"  they  can  swim,  you  know." 

They  went  on  slowly,  Barbara  and  her 
mother  looking  on  fearfully  as  Ned  sank 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  stream  ;  up  to  his 
knees  —  up  to  his  waist — but  there  it  stopped 
and  began  to  lower.  They  had  been  so  ab- 
sorbed in  their  anxiety  for  him  that  they  had 
not  noticed  that  the  water  had  come  into  the 
carriage  box,  and  their  feet  and  the  lower  part 
of  their  clothes  were  soaking.  When  they 
drew  up  safely  on  the  other  side  they  stopped 


FORDING  THE  RIVER  275 

to  see  if  the  other  team  made  the  trip  safely. 
It  followed  close  behind  them,  and  all  were 
relieved  when  it  came  up  beside  them  on  dry 
land. 

Two  roads  led  from  this  point,  and  the 
emigrant  said,  "I  guess  we  part  company 
here  ;  I  'm  going  to  the  south,  and  this  is  my 
road,"  pointing  to  the  left-hand  one. 

"Then  we  do  part  here,"  said  Mr.  Brainard, 
"  for  my  road  is  straight  ahead." 

Good-byes  were  exchanged,  and  the  mule 
team  with  its  load  of  children  and  their  little 
mother  passed  out  of  sight. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Brainard,  when  Ned  started 
running  on  ahead,  saying  he  would  dry  him- 
self so,  "  there  's  an  inn  not  very  far  from  here. 
We  must  hurry  to  get  there  and  dry  our- 
selves." 

The  horses  were  urged,  and  within  an  hour 
the  travelers  were  comfortably  warming  them- 
selves before  a  rousing  fire  at  the  Rock  River 
Tavern. 

On  this  side  of  the  river  the  roads  were 
much  better,  and  after  a  few  hours  spent  in 


276     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

getting  dry  and  eating  an  early  dinner  they 
set  off  for  a  farmhouse  where  they  hoped  to 
spend  the  night. 

As  they  drew  up  before  the  side  door  of  a 
neat-looking  farmhouse  they  were  greeted 
from  the  step  by  a  short,  slim  little  woman 
with  a  very  bright  face  and  cheery  voice,  in 
the  accents  of  "  down  East." 

"  Wall,  now,  I  'm  real  glad  to  see  you  !  Get 
right  out  and  come  in  by  the  fire !  you  look 
clean  tuckered  out,  missis." 

Such  a  warm  welcome  was  in  itself  comfort- 
ing, and  the  looks  and  manner  of  the  hostess 
added  to  the  cheer. 

In  five  minutes  Barbara  and  her  mother 
were  seated  in  the  warmest  corner  of  the  great 
open  fireplace,  while  Mr.  Brainard  and  Ned 
were  helping  their  host  to  make  the  horses  as 
comfortable  as  themselves.  This  was  the  kind 
of  place  to  make  one  glad  he  had  come. 

"  Can  you  keep  us  all  night  and  to  break- 
fast ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Brainard. 

"  To  be  sure ! "  said  the  woman,  bustling 
in  and  out  of  the  pantry;  "  I  Ve  only  got  two 


FORDING  THE  RIVER  277 

beds;  but  I  can  make  up  the  lounge  for 
missy." 

"  Two  beds  will  do  well  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Brainard ;  "  my  daughter  will  sleep  with  me." 

"  Wall,  then,  I  can  fix  you  up  snug  as  a  bug 
in  a  rug,"  said  their  hostess,  "  'n'  as  for  break- 
fast !  my  sakes  !  I  could  feed  forty  like  you ! " 
and  with  a  hearty  laugh  she  pulled  out  a  table 
and  began  to  set  it  for  supper. 

"  Is  there  anything  special  you  'd  like  for 
supper?"  she  asked. 

"  What  can  you  give  us  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Brainard. 

"  Wall,  hot  biscuits  and  butter  'n'  a  first- 
rate  dish  o*  hash  I  had  fixed  for  breakfast 
—  but  I  c'n  make  something  else  for  break- 
fast —  'n'  tea  'n'  doughnuts  'n'  cake  'n'  apple- 
sassV  — " 

"  There !  there ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Brainard, 
"  that 's  enough  in  all  conscience  !  We  shall 
be  well  satisfied  with  what  you  have  men- 
tioned." 

Never  was  such  a  bustling  little  housekeeper ; 
in  about  five  minutes  she  had  scrambled  her 


278     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

flour  and  things  together,  and  slapped  a  pan 
of  biscuits  into  a  tin  oven  before  the  fire.  In 
two  minutes  more  a  dish  of  most  appetizing- 
looking  hash  was  throwing  out  delicious  odors 
from  a  "  bake-kettle  "  on  the  hearth,  and  run- 
ning back  and  forth  between  pantry,  fireplace, 
and  table  was  the  cheery  little  hostess,  keeping 
up  all  the  time  a  pleasant  chatter  as  brisk  as 
herself. 

It  was  certainly  less  than  thirty  minutes 
after  they  came  in  when  they  sat  down  to  a 
homely  but  tempting  meal.  Even  fastidious 
Barbara,  who  had  learned  at  boarding  school 
to  despise  "  hash  "  —  even  she  sent  back  her 
plate  for  a  second  helping.  As  for  Ned,  he 
declared  he  had  n't  eaten  anything  so  good  as 
that  hash  and  doughnuts  since  he  left  home 
in  knee-breeches  for  his  first  school. 

Breakfast,  to  which  the  little  woman  could 
give  more  time,  was  a  most  elaborate  meal. 
In  addition  to  the  usual  breakfast  dishes  of 
cereal,  meat  and  potatoes,  hot  bread,  and  dough- 
nuts and  coffee,  were  four  kinds  of  cake,  —  two 
kinds  made  fresh  that  morning,  —  apple  and 


FORDING  THE  RIVER  279 

mince  pie,  four  kinds  of  preserves,  and  various 
other  things. 

It  was  the  sort  of  bill  of  fare  most  delect- 
able to  the  youthful  appetite,  and  though  I 
hesitate  to  say  that  Barbara  tasted  every  kind 
of  cake  and  pie  and  preserve,  I  'm  sure  she 
paid  little  attention  to  the  more  solid  articles 
their  host  piled  upon  her  plate. 

"  I  'd  like  to  stay  here  a  week,"  she  whis- 
pered to  her  mother,  as  they  left  the  table. 

"No  doubt  you  would,"  said  her  mother 
with  a  smile,  "  but  I  fear  it  would  n't  be  good 
for  your  health.  Our  little  hostess  is  far  too 
generous  a  provider." 

"  I  'm  downright  sorry  to  see  you  go,"  said 
the  farmer's  wife,  as  the  carriage  came  up  in 
the  morning.  "  I  du  get  so  lonesome  out  here 
on  the  prairie,  'n'  it 's  good  for  sore  eyes  to  see 
such  a  pleasant  party  as  you.  I  du  hope  you'll 
come  this  way  again." 

"  If  we  do, "  said  Mr.  Brainard  heartily, 
"  we  '11  be  sure  to  stop  over  with  you." 

"  So  do !  so  do ! "  said  the  farmer,  as  the 
horses  started  off. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  "STAR" 

THE  far  Western  town  where  this  pleasant 
family  journey  came  to  an  end  was  a  village 
of  hard-working  people  with  apparently  no 
thoughts  above  their  daily  labors.  The  mis- 
representation which  had  induced  Mr.  Brain- 
ard  to  bring  his  family  to  this  place,  expecting 
to  make  it  their  permanent  home,  need  not  be 
told  here.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  Barbara 
and  Ned  found  themselves  very  lonely.  Bar- 
bara, indeed,  began  to  feel  very  homesick  for 
her  old  life  and  circle  of  friends,  when  a  new 
interest  opened  before  her. 

Ned  —  having,  as  I  said,  finished  his  edu- 
cation— was  hesitating  about  choosing  a  pro- 
fession, when  circumstances,  as  they  often 
do,  decided  it  for  him. 

In  this  backwoods  village  was  one  newspa- 
per, a  weekly  of  the  regular  country  newspa- 


THE   STAR  281 

per  type.  Into  the  office  of  that  paper,  and 
acquaintance  with  its  genial  editor,  Ned,  with 
nothing  to  do,  soon  drifted.  To  help  his  new 
friend,  the  rather  overworked  editor,  as  well 
as  to  amuse  himself  in  the  dull  country  town, 
he  learned  the  art  of  typesetting  and  printing, 
and  generally  getting  up  a  newspaper. 

At  the  same  time  Barbara,  feeling  the  keen- 
est interest  in  everything  connected  with  the 
press,  began  to  write  little  items  which  she 
sent  in  anonymously,  and  was  always  pleased 
to  see  in  the  next  issue  of  the  paper. 

All  this  work  which  the  brother  and  sister 
did  for  their  own  amusement  proved  to  be 
really  a  training  for  a  position  in  which  they 
found  themselves  a  few  weeks  later.  The 
owner  and  editor  of  the  "  Weekly  Star  "  (let  us 
call  it)  received  one  day  an  offer  of  a  desirable 
connection  in  one  of  the  two  large  cities  of 
the  state,  and  was  anxious  to  accept  it.  To  get 
his  little  paper  off  his  hands  without  really 
stopping  it  before  the  year  was  out,  he  offered 
to  sell  it  to  Ned,  with  the  use  of  the  type  and 
press,  and  all  things  necessary  to  print  the 


282     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

paper  till  the  end  of  the  year,  for  which  the 
subscribers  had  paid. 

Ned  considered  this  offer  with  hesitation, 
for,  being  a  new  hand,  he  feared  he  could  not 
manage  the  whole  business  of  editor,  composi- 
tor, proofreader,  press-worker,  and  office  boy, 
as  the  present  editor  had  done. 

But  when  Barbara  heard  his  talk  about  it,  she 
at  once  fired  up.  "  Oh,  Ned  !  "  she  cried  with 
sparkling  eyes,  "  Do  it !  do  it !  I  '11  help  you !  " 

"  What  can  you  do,  sis,"  said  Ned,  "  except 
write  sharp  little  items  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  learn  to  set  type,"  said  Barbara. 
"I  know  I  can  —  it  is  n't  so  very  hard — and  I 
should  love  to  do  it !  I  have  nothing  to  do ; 
Oh,  do  let  me !  " 

"  That  might  do, "  said  her  father,  consid- 
ering. "Barbara  has  plenty  of  grit,  and  she's 
always  mussing  with  ink  —  look  at  her  fingers 
now." 

Sure  enough ;  on  the  treacherous  middle 
finger  of  her  right  hand  was  an  ink  spot,  which, 
in  her  haste  to  fill  her  pen,  Barbara  generally 
wore  to  show  what  she  had  been  doing. 


THE  STAR  283 

Barbara  blushed  and  laughed. 

"  Well,  sis,  if  you  '11  promise  to  stand  by 
me  and  learn  to  set  type  like  any  apprentice, 
I  think  I  '11  try  it ;  it  will  at  least  help  to  pass 
away  the  time  in  this  dull  town ;  but  you 
must  n't  back  out  when  you  find  it  hard,  or 
tiresome." 

"Back  out!"  said  Barbara  scornfully.  "Do 
I  ever  back  out  of  a  promise,  mother  ?  "  turn- 
ing to  that  lady,  who  was  listening  with  inter- 
est to  the  talk.  Remembering  with  a  pang 
Barbara's  experience  with  the  paper  basket — 
so  long  ago  now  —  which  so  nearly  had  a  dis- 
astrous ending,  Mrs.  Brainard  said  emphati- 
cally, "  Indeed,  Ned,  I  am  sure  you  can  trust 
Barbara  to  keep  her  promise,  and  more  too, 
and  she  '11  take  to  printer's  ink  like  a  duck  to 
water ;  she  always  was  daft  over  any  kind  of 
ink." 

With  this  endorsement  Ned  quickly  decided 
to  take  the  paper,  and  the  very  next  morning 
work  began. 

Dressed  in  her  warmest  gown,  for  winter 
had  already  arrived — and  winter  in  Minne- 


284  WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

sota  is  no  joke — and  protected  by  one  of  her 
mother's  big  aprons  from  the  printers'  ink  in 
which  she  hoped  to  revel,  Barbara  betook  her- 
self directly  after  breakfast  to  the  office  of  the 
"Weekly  Star,"  feeling  several  inches  taller, 
and  many  years  older,  than  she  did  the  day 
before. 

The  office,  composing-room,  and  everything 
else  of  this  unique  newspaper  was  in  one  large 
room  in  the  basement  of  the  village  hotel,  in 
which  the  family  had  taken  board  for  the  win- 
ter. The  room  was  intended  for  a  store,  the 
whole  front  being  occupied  by  two  large  show 
windows  and  a  double  glass  door. 

Having,  however,  missed  its  vocation  as  a 
store,  it  had  been  a  general  receptacle  for  all 
the  rubbish  and  odds  and  ends  of  the  hotel 
above.  Also  its  windows  had  been  a  target 
for  idle  boys,  and  more  than  half  the  panes  of 
glass  were  broken  or  missing  altogether.  To 
keep  from  freezing  to  death  the  editor  had 
closed  these  openings  to  the  sharp  Minnesota 
air  by  newspapers  pasted  over,  or  old  clothes 
stuffed  in,  so  that  the  front  presented  a  dis- 


THE  STAR  285 

reputable  appearance,  looking,  indeed,  like  a 
rag  shop  or  something  worse. 

Inside  it  was  even  less  attractive ;  the  rub- 
bish mentioned  had  been  hastily  shoved  to  the 
back,  to  make  room  for  the  two  cases  of  type 
to  be  set  up  near  the  windows,  but  it  still 
stood  there  in  all  its  ugliness. 

The  stove  occupied  the  place  of  honor  near 
the  type  cases,  while  the  pipe,  which  ran  the 
whole  length  of  the  room,  was  shakingly  held 
in  place  by  numerous  rusty  wires,  and  disap- 
peared into  a  hole  near  the  ceiling.  This 
piece  of  furniture,  on  which  their  lives  de- 
pended, was  a  big  structure  standing  on  three 
legs  and  a  pile  of  bricks,  and  plainly  had  not 
been  blacked  for  ages  —  if  ever.  It  had  a 
large  square  door  in  front,  with  a  capacity  of 
great  logs  of  wood. 

It  had  the  capacity  —  as  I  said  —  and  the 
will  to  dispose  of  them ;  all  that  was  lacking 
was  proper  fuel.  Not  a  stick  of  dry  wood 
could  be  bought  in  that  town  at  the  begin- 
ning of  a  Minnesota  winter.  Every  family  had 
taken  care  to  provide  itself  with  this  necessity 


286     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

of  life,  but  no  one  had  a  stick  to  sell.  Neither 
money  nor  entreaties  was  able  to  secure  any- 
thing to  feed  that  devouring  monster,  which 
was  expected  to  keep  the  lifeblood  flowing  in 
the  veins  of  the  new  editor  and  his  assistant,— 
anything,  at  least,  that  was  prepared  to  burn. 
Green  wood  they  could  buy,  and  that  they 
had  to  put  up  with,  with  the  result  that  more 
than  half  the  time  of  the  two  shivering  work- 
ers had  to  be  passed  in  coaxing  the  wood  to 
render  up  its  heat ;  and  never  once  in  the  va- 
ried experiences  of  that  winter  was  that  barn 
of  a  room  really  warm. 

The  brother  and  sister  prepared  for  their 
daily  labors  by  putting  on  all  the  wraps  they 
possessed.  Ned  worked  in  heavy  overcoat,  long 
leggings,  thick  woolen  gloves  with  the  tips  of 
the  fingers  cut  off;  and  Barbara  wrapped  her- 
self in  every  jacket  and  cloak  she  had,  with 
fur-lined  overshoes,  and  gloves  cut  like  her 
brother's.  Thus  equipped,  looking  like  a  pair 
of  Arctic  explorers,  they  went — laughing  at 
their  own  grotesque  appearance  —  to  their 
dreary  office,  to  their  daily  task  of  setting  type. 


THE   STAB  287 

Barbara  soon  grew  expert  at  the  work,  for 
she  loved  it.  To  see  the  words  she  had  written 
grow  into  print  in  the  little  '"'composing  stick" 
in  her  hand,  and  then  take  their  place  in  the 
long  column  that  was  to  appear  in  the  "Star," 
was  a  constant  delight  to  her.  After  the  work 
of  the  day  was  over,  and  she  went  to  her  little 
room  in  the  hotel  above,  she  busied  herself  in 
writing  sketches,  editorials,  magazine  reviews, 
and  so  forth,  to  fill  the  columns,  leaving  to  her 
brother  —  who,  lacking  her  enthusiasm,  was 
usually  too  tired  to  work  —  only  the  political 
and  other  news  to  write.  Often  she  had  to  go 
to  bed  to  keep  warm,  for  the  hotel  was  not  much 
better  supplied  with  dry  wood  than  the  office. 
Even  then  she  would  wrap  up  her  shoulders 
and  arms,  and  sit  up  and  write  hours  after 
every  one  else  in  the  house  had  retired  to  the 
only  place  where  he  could  be  really  warm  - 
his  bed. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

HAPPY  AT  LAST 

IN  spite  of  the  cold,  the  hard  work,  and  the 
many  discomforts,  Barbara  was  now  very 
happy,  happier  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
life.  She  had  found  the  work  that  she  loved, 
and  —  though  you  young  folk  won't  believe 
it  yet  —  that  is  the  greatest  happiness  in  life. 

Her  work,  of  course,  was  crude ;  no  editor, 
except  a  brother  hard  pressed  to  fill  his  paper, 
would  have  published  it ;  but  she  was  learn- 
ing—  she  improved.  Seeing  her  own  words 
in  cold  print  showed  her  their  faults,  and  she 
set  herself  eagerly  to  correct  them.  She  read 
carefully  other  newspapers ;  she  modeled  her 
work  upon  the  best  of  them,  and  before  that 
winter  was  over  she  had  acquired  a  very  tol- 
erable journalistic  style. 

There  was  a  sort  of  intoxication  about  the 
situation  in  which  these  very  young  people 
found  themselves.  Finding  a  certain  power  in 


HAPPY    AT  LAST  289 

their  hands  with  no  older  head  to  hold  back, 
they  set  out  —  after  the  manner  of  youth  — 
to  make  the  old  world  over  in  the  old  foolish 
way  —  by  force. 

Selecting  the  ordinary  failings  of  human 
nature,  especially  as  it  shows  in  a  small  town 
with  few  outside  interests,  they  attacked  them 
with  the  eager  enthusiasm  of  inexperience; 
sharp,  caustic  remarks  and  even  serious  re- 
proof appeared  in  the  saucy  —  one  might  say 
impertinent  —  "Star,"  which  indeed  changed 
from  a  heavenly  object  to  a  very  earthly  one. 

Before  long  that  sleepy  village  awoke ; 
people  began  to  open  their  eyes  and  to  wag 
their  tongues.  The  youthful  editors  did  not 
know  the  people  well  enough  to  be  personal 
had  they  desired  to  be  so,  but  in  attacking 
human  nature  in  general  they  could  not  fail 
to  hit  some  one,  and  every  one  so  stung  began 
to  sting  back.  Gossip,  which  had  come  in  for 
the  hardest  blows  of  the  callow  journal,  was 
turned  against  them ;  strange  stories  began  to 
be  whispered  about.  The  young  editors  were 
delighted.  They  were  making  a  sensation ; 


290    WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

they  had   escaped    the  fault   of   dullness  — 
deadliest  of  faults  in  a  newspaper. 

In  fact,  the  eager  reformers  were  in  a  fair 
way  to  bring  a  hornet's  nest  about  their  ears, 
when  a  kind  fate  in  the  guise  of  a  misfortune 
came  in  to  protect  them. 

One  morning  in  the  early  spring  a  thunder- 
bolt fell  upon  the  modest  "  Star."  The  old  ed- 
itor appeared  in  the  office  and  announced  that 
he  had  sold  all  the  type  and  the  press,  and 
should  have  to  take  them  away  in  two  days. 

Consternation  fell  upon  the  pair.  The  pa- 
per had  three  weeks  more  to  run  before  the 
new  owner  could  collect  what  was  due  for  ad- 
vertising, which  he  depended  upon  to  pay  him 
for  his  time  and  work. 

This  called  for  a  council  of  war;  the  ques- 
tion to  settle  was :  what  shall  be  done? 

That  evening  in  family  conclave  the  matter 
was  discussed.  After  much  talk  and  many 
suggestions,  such  as  that  the  paper  should  be 
issued  from  the  city  nearest  them,  and  so 
forth,  the  bright  thought  came  to  Barbara, 
who  flashed  out  with,  "  I  '11  tell  you,  Ned,  let 's 


HAPPY  AT  LAST  291 

run  off  the  three  numbers  in  the  two  days 
we  have,  and  send  them  out  at  the  proper 
time ! " 

"  We  might  do  that,"  said  Ned  eagerly,  "  if 
father  will  take  Bill  (the  hired  man)  and  run 
the  press.  We  can  cut  it  down  to  a  half  sheet. 
Keeping  all  the  ads,  and  leaving  out  most  of 
the  literature"  (with  a  roguish  glance  at  Bar- 
bara), "  you  and  I  can  keep  up  the  matter, 
and  I  really  believe  we  could  do  it." 

"  I  '11  give  you  my  help,"  said  their  father, 
"  though  I  never  ran  a  press." 

"  That's  easy  to  learn,"  said  Ned,  "  and  Bill 
has  helped  me,  so  he  knows  how." 

So  the  thing  was  arranged ;  the  next  morn- 
ing very  early  saw  the  work  begun.  The 
standing  ads  were  rearranged  in  new,  com- 
pact shape,  all  useless  matter  cut  out,  and 
only  two  or  three  columns  left  to  be  filled  with 
fresh  matter  for  each  day. 

Barbara  hunted  scraps  of  sketches  from  her 
desk,  and  wrote  notices  of  the  magazines  which 
were  due  during  those  three  weeks.  Ned  wrote 
leaders  on  general  subjects  which  were  always 


292     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

timely,  and  both  worked  from  dawn  till  long 
after  dark  at  the  composing  cases,  setting  up 
these  various  productions,  and,  after  they  were 
printed,  distributing  the  type  to  be  used  for 
the  next  issue,  while  the  hand  press  steadily 
stamped  them  on  the  paper. 

So  by  almost  constant  work  all  day  and  far 
into  the  night  the  work  was  finished;  and 
three  rolls  of  the  diminished  "Star"  —one  for 
each  week  —  were  hidden  away  in  a  room  up- 
stairs, and  the  weary  but  triumphant  pair  took 
some  much-needed  rest. 

That  was  a  small  town,  as  I  said,  and  after 
the  manner  of  the  people  in  small  towns,  every 
one  knew  his  neighbor's  business.  There  was 
much  talk  when  the  "office"  of  the  "Star" 
was  seen  to  depart,  and  many  queries  whether 
that  luminary  would  appear  again,  and  the 
advertisers  should  be  asked  to  pay. 

Much  to  their  surprise,  the  next  week  saw 
the  "  Star"  again  on  their  counters  and  tables, 
with  all  its  ads,  and  its  sprightly  spirits  un- 
diminished. 

Wise  heads  assembled  in  the  grocery,  dis- 


HAPPY  AT  LAST  293 

cussed  the  matter,  and  decided  that  it  had  been 
run  off  in  a  hurry  before  the  office  left,  but 
one  and  all  were  sure  it  would  not  appear 
again. 

What  was  their  surprise  on  the  next  Wed- 
nesday to  be  greeted  by  the  same  old  "Star," 
with  new  matter.  Guesses  were  plenty,  but  no 
one  hit  upon  the  truth.  The  crowd  at  the  gro- 
cery decided  that  it  had  been  printed  at  St. 
Paul. 

The  third  issue  contained  the  valedictory  of 
each  of  the  two  editors  —  for  Barbara,  by  as- 
suming the  greater  part  of  the  original  work, 
had  been  accorded  that  distinction  by  her 
grateful  brother  —  and  the  "Star"  set,  to  rise 
no  more. 

It  had  accomplished  its  work.  It  had  de- 
cided the  lifework  of  the  two,  for  Ned  found 
himself  as  much  fascinated  as  Barbara  with 
journalism,  and  had  no  further  doubts  as  to  a 
profession. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  END  OF   TROUBLES 

WHEN  the  little  country  newspaper  drew  its 
last  breath,  Barbara  felt  that  she  had  made 
good  her  claim  to  make  writing  her  profes- 
sion. She  had  learned  a  great  deal,  and  to 
her  untrained  sense  her  articles  read  very 
much  like  those  she  found  in  the  best  maga- 
zines and  journals. 

When  her  father  learned  that  the  Western 
move  was  a  mistake,  and  the  next  spring 
moved  bag  and  baggage  back  to  civilization, 
Barbara,  who  was  now  much  happier  at  home 
since  Janet  was  no  longer  there,  set  herself 
seriously  to  begin  what  she  felt  was  her  life- 
work. 

So  many  things  she  saw  about  her  in  the 
world  that  needed  reforming:  so  many  mis- 
takes made,  so  many  blunders,  so  much  need- 
less unhappiness.  She  was  burning  with  desire 
to  set  them  right;  she  was  bursting  with  ad- 


THE  END  OF  TROUBLES  295 

vice  and  help.  She  could  see  so  plainly  where 
the  mistakes  were  made  ;  how  mothers  failed 
in  their  duty  to  their  children,  wives  to  their 
husbands,  teachers  to  their  pupils.  If  the  world 
would  only  listen ! 

Alas !  the  world  did  not  seem  to  want  to 
be  set  right ;  it  preferred  to  go  on  in  the  old 
stupid,  blundering  way. 

Earnestly,  and  with  her  whole  heart  in  the 
work,  Barbara  sat  in  her  quiet  room  and 
wrote,  wrote,  wrote.  Essay  after  essay  flowed 
from  her  pen,  and,  after  due  study  and  correc- 
tion, in  dainty  yet  business-like  dress  set  out 
on  its  mission  of  helpfulness. 

Alas !  one  after  another,  with  marvelous 
unanimity,  every  essay  returned  to  her. 

What  did  this  mean  ?  had  she  not  read  in 
stories  of  the  wonderful  success  of  the  first 
efforts  of  young  writers ;  how  their  effusions 
met  at  once  a  generous  response  —  with  eager 
requests  for  more  ?  Were  they  so  much  bet- 
ter than  hers  ?  Many  essays  that  she  read  in 
magazines  and  papers  read  no  better;  some 
were  even  stupid,  in  her  opinion. 


296     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO   BARBARA 

But  these  unanimous  returns !  Had  she 
indeed  mistaken  her  vocation  ?  Had  the  world 
no  need  of  her  ?  Her  courage  and  her  hopes 
sank  to  zero.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  that 
she  had  no  place  in  the  world,  and  life  looked 
very  black.  If  she  could  not  write,  she  felt 
that  she  could  not  live ;  no  other  career  but 
that  of  author  had  the  least  charm  for  her. 

These  were  very  dark  days  for  Barbara,  but 
into  her  gloom  came  at  last  a  ray  of  light.  It 
came  from  what  one  might  think  a  chance 
conversation,  if  there  were  any  such  thing  as 
chance. 

Barbara,  as  I  have  many  times  said,  was  a 
devoted  book-lover,  and  in  her  fresh  grief  and 
misery  she  turned  to  books  more  and  more  for 
comfort  and  consolation.  Not  far  from  her 
home  was  a  small  private  circulating  library, 
kept  by  a  woman  of  much  ability  and  experi- 
ence. With  this  woman  Barbara  loved  to  talk, 
when  she  went  for  books,  and  from  her  lips 
fell  the  words  that  changed  Barbara's  life. 

They  were  one  day  speaking  of  a  mutual 
acquaintance  who  was  trying  to  win  a  place 


THE  END  OF  TROUBLES  297 

in  the  world  of  writers,  but  had  met  with  no  suc- 
cess. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  why  she  fails,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin ;  "  she  writes  nothing  but  her  sen- 
timents and  opinions.  What  do  people  care 
for  the  sentiments  of  an  unknown  writer  ? 
The  world  is  full  of  young  scribblers  who 
think  it  their  business  to  make  over  the  blun- 
dering old  world ;  they  crop  out  as  plentiful 
as  flowers  in  the  spring." 

Barbara  was  all  eager  attention  now.  Per- 
haps the  wise  old  woman,  who  knew  human 
nature,  saw  the  hunger  of  her  soul ;  at  any 
rate  she  went  on  :  — 

"  If  she  would  only  tell  stories,  now  — " 

Barbara  shuddered :  anybody  could  tell  sto- 
ries, she  thought,  —  she  could  reel  them  off 
by  the  mile, — she  would  not  condescend  to 
write  stories. 

"  Or,"  —  went  on  her  sharp-sighted  friend, 
—  "or  tell  the  world  something  it  does  not 
know,  or  something  it  wants  to  know  ;  some 
facts,  told  in  a  bright,  fresh  way.  When  she 
gets  a  name  that  the  world  will  recognize, 


298     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

then  she  can  go  into  the  reforming  business; 
then  her  sentiments  and  ideas  will  have  some 
weight." 

With  these  wise  words  in  her  mind  Barbara 
went  home ;  the  new  thought  had  taken  hold 
of  her;  she  felt  new  life;  perhaps  thai  was 
the  way  to  begin. 

But  what  did  she  know  to  tell  the  world; 
Facts  had  not  been  in  her  thoughts ;  senti- 
ments, feelings,  had  filled  her  mind. 

Pondering  deeply  on  these  things,  she 
reached  home  and  went  at  once  to  her  room 
to  think  it  over.  The  book  she  had  taken 
from  the  library  was  a  bound  volume  of 
Household  Words,  and  while  she  was  search- 
ing her  mind  to  find  some  bit  of  knowledge 
that  she  might  offer  that  world  which  re- 
fused her  sentiments,  and  so  test  her  friend's 
wisdom,  she  was  turning  over  the  leaves  care- 
lessly. Suddenly  her  eyes  fell  upon  something 
which  attracted  her.  It  was  an  account  of  a 
visit  to  some  famous  china  works  in  England, 
and  it  gave,  in  a  bright,  simple  way,  the  pro- 
cess through  which  every  bit  of  china  passed. 


THE  END  OF  TROUBLES  299 

Barbara  was  so  interested  that  she  read  it 
through,  and  then  like  a  flash  came  the 
thought  that  changed  the  world  for  her. 

Why  not  write  this  up?  This  is  English; 
why  not  see  how  it  is  done  in  America  and 
tell  it  for  the  children,  — for  her  failures  had 
made  Barbara  modest  about  instructing  grown- 
ups. 

The  thought  worked  like  wild-fire;  she 
could  not  even  wait  to  see  how  it  was  done  in 
America ;  but,  her  mind  filled  with  the  in- 
teresting details  of  the  English  process,  she 
seized  her  pencil  and  began  her  sketch.  She 
was  full  of  her  subject,  and  she  never  paused 
till  she  had  finished  the  article,  and  described 
the  whole  process  of  making  a  dainty  bit  of 
china,  in  language  that  was  simple  though 
not  babyish. 

When  she  had  copied  it  and  sent  it  to  the 
Children's  Department  of  a  religious  weekly 
that  came  regularly  to  the  house,  she  set  her- 
self with  grim  courage  to  wait  the  usual  re- 
turn of  the  manuscript. 

But  it  did  not  return  ;  the  very  next  num- 


300     WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  BARBARA 

ber  of  the  paper  had  her  "  Tale  of  a  Teacup  " 
in  it,  and  in  the  mail  came  a  letter —  Oh,  joy 
unspeakable !  —  with  her  first  reward,  a  two- 
dollar  bill ! 

The  amount  was  nothing,  but  the  promise 
for  the  future  was  everything.  From  that 
moment  Barbara  was  the  happiest  girl  on 
earth.  She  had  found  her  work !  she  had 
proved  that  she  could  do  it !  She  had  not 
been  mistaken  in  her  instincts;  she  needed 
only  time  and  experience  to  make  her  own 
place  in  the  world  of  her  love  and  longing. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  wild  enthusi- 
asm of  that  hour  of  first  success  was  not 
entirely  fulfilled.  Barbara  did  win  a  place  for 
herself  in  the  world  of  letters  —  a  modest  one, 
to  be  sure  —  but  one  that  made  her  life  hap- 
pier. 

The  first  little  success  was  not  followed  by 
the  triumphant  career  she  pictured;  articles 
came  back,  editors  were  not  always  eager  as 
she  pushed  out  into  more  ambitious  fields ;  she 
met  the  usual  failures,  but  she  met  also  with 
many  successes,  enough  to  make  the  happiness 


THE   END  OF  TROUBLES  301 

of  a  life  which  had  many  vicissitudes  after  the 
days  of  this  book. 

She  learned  also  to  have  more  respect  for 
the  story,  and  even  sometimes  to  write  one 
herself  when  one  came  to  her  so  vividly  that 
she  could  n't  help  it. 

So  we  will  leave  her,  a  happy  Barbara,  with 
her  lifework  plain  before  her. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    •    A 


THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS 


By  CLARA  LOUISE  BURNHAM 


"An  always  interesting,  frequently  amusing,  ever 
delightful  love  story.  A  novel  of  power,  one  that  will 
be  widely  read,  for  it  is  the  best  that  this  distinguished 
author  has  yet  written."  Boston  Budget, 

"  A  wholesome  picture  of  normal,  wholesome  lives ; 
full  of  human  nature,  sparkling  with  humor,  and  filled 
with  clever  portrayals  of  character  ...  as  good  work 
as  Mrs.  Burnham  has  ever  done."  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  The  love  story  of  Sylvia  and  her  rescuer  is  a  very 
beautiful  one."  Chicago  Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Burnham  has  written  the  book  in  her  hap- 
piest vein.  It  is  brimming  with  dry  humor  and  amus- 
ing characterization."  Lewiston  Evening  Journal. 

With  frontispiece  in  color  by  HARRISON  FISHER 

I2mo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON  '?&j[  BOSTON 

MIFFUN  jSS  AND 

«t  COMPANY  ralS)  NEW  YORK 


MRS.  WIGGIN'S  REBECCA 

"  A  character  that  is  irresistible  in  her  quaint, 
humorous  originality."  Cleveland  Leader. 

Mrs.  Wiggin  has  written  a  new  book  under 
the  title  "New  Chronicles  Of  Rebecca"  recount- 
ing certain  episodes  in  the  life  of  Rebecca,  "  just 
the  nicest  child  in  American  literature,"  to  quote 
from  Mr.  T.  B.  Aldrich.  "Rebecca's  normal 
spirit  and  good  cheer  are  adorable,"  writes  Mrs. 
Burnett.  Indeed,  Rebecca  is  a  favorite  in  the 
hearts  of  thousands.  She  has  become  almost  a 
national  character.  Her  native  wit  and  the 
wholesome  charm  of  untrammeled  American 
girlhood  brighten  every  page  of  this  new  book. 

Illustrated  by  F.  C.  YOHN.     i2mo,  $1.25. 


HOUGHTON  /\$;I  BOSTON 

MIFFLIN  /§£  AND 

&  COMPANY  raira  NEW  YORK 


